


Of All the Roads Which I Have Walked

by lyriumandmentats



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bedside Vigils, Cade has surprisingly good bedside manner, Canon-Typical Violence, Cybernetics, Deathclaws, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, I may have embellished the Prydwen's sick bay, Injury, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, Mentions of the Lone Wanderer, Mild Gore, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Slow Build, Smut, Why are Deathclaws responsible for the majority of injuries?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-08-19 22:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyriumandmentats/pseuds/lyriumandmentats
Summary: After receiving countless reports about the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 from Paladin Danse, Elder Maxson is more than excited to meet her. But when an unexpected incident finally brings her aboard the Prydwen, nothing about her is what he - or anyone else - expected.Rating will likely change in later chapters.





	1. Initiate

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write something from the viewpoint of Arthur Maxson, and not just because I've loved him ever since Fallout 3. He's a very stubborn guy, but I like to think he can be flexible. In more ways than one :^) 
> 
> As always, feel free to hit me up over on my tumblr!  
> https://lyriumandmentats.tumblr.com/

 

     Very rarely did Elder Maxson read field reports unless they were of the utmost importance. In order to ensure that information flowed smoothly, reports were filed to senior officers, who passed on any relevant information to the Elder. He was kept up to date on the various operations of his men in the field, the plethora of repairs Proctor Ingram performed on the Prydwen almost daily, and was informed of any significant research breakthroughs. The only reports he read in their entirety were from Paladin Danse. It was assumed because Danse was of a higher rank, that his recon team was performing more critical tasks. While that was true, there was another reason.

     The first reports were the typical catalog of day-to-day operations. Scribe Haylen was studying another piece of pre-War tech, Knight Rhys was prepping a small team to go and clear another location of ferals or Super Mutants or the like. But another name, which was peppered in at first, was beginning to grow more and more prominent in the Paladin's writing. A woman  _—_ and a Vault-Dweller, at that  _—_ who had helped retrieve the deep range transmitter, run numerous ops, and had been brought into the fold. Wren Hayworth, newly named Initiate by Danse himself. Seeing as Danse was one of, if not the most, trusted men in the Brotherhood, Maxson couldn't help but be intrigued by the way he wrote about their newest recruit. The Paladin seemed thoroughly impressed with her. 

     Vault-Dwellers had an unfortunately negative reputation in the Wasteland, and although there were those who fully deserved that reputation, not all of them did. Maxson remembered meeting one back in the Citadel all those years ago. She was strong, intelligent, and someone he had looked up to as a child and still aspired to emulate even now. In these reports, he couldn't help but be reminded of her. Most wastelanders were suspicious of the Brotherhood, especially here in the Commonwealth, and as such, didn't offer much assistance. At least, not without promise of payment, but the way Initiate Hayworth stepped up for no reason other than a desire to help was inspiring in its own right.

     And so the Elder devoured every new report that Danse filed. He never thought he'd say it, but Maxson was happy for a soldier that filed so many reports. Each one contained at least one new mention of the Vault-Dweller's name, which he was now able to pick out almost instantly from the rest of the words.  _Initiate Hayworth single-handedly cleared out a swath in downtown Boston of feral ghouls. Initiate Hayworth recently gathered a fascinating piece of tech; Scribe Haylen is investigating further._ _Initiate Hayworth returned today after helping defend a settlement against raiders; as always, she is eager to assist with any available tasks. We're all proud to count her among us._

     Even Maxson was proud to have someone like that serving the Brotherhood of Steel, and he hadn't even met the woman yet. At the same time, though, he felt like he already knew at least part of her from reading the reports. A strong, capable woman that stood out from her peers in a way he hadn't seen since his youth. 

     But there hadn't been any reports filed from Danse in a few days now, so instead Maxson was spending his evening checking up on the rest of his men. Proctor Quinlan informed him of the latest information and technology his research patrols had brought back, and he caught up with Proctor Teagan about the various arrangements made to bring more food aboard the Prydwen. 

     "It'd be easier to keep up with the demand if we'd buy crops from the settlers, Elder," Teagan pointed out. Maxson shook his head.

     "We can't waste time sending soldiers to try and convince civilians to provide us with food," he replied. "You know as well as I that most of them would just want to bleed us dry."

     It was obvious that the quartermaster didn't agree, but he didn't argue, much to his credit. Maxson dismissed himself shortly after, as it was growing late, and he wanted to at least try and get a bit of rest. A plan which was not so easily achieved, it seemed, when he heard the sound of hurried footsteps clattering up behind him.

     "Elder Maxson, report for you, sir!"

     He turned to see a flustered looking Squire come running up the hallway, a file with his name written in bold letters in the boy's hands. He took the file and flipped it open to see Danse's neat handwriting. 

     "Thank you, Squire. Is there anything else you needed?"

     The boy stood up straight. "No, sir."

     "Very well. You are dismissed."

     "Thank you, Elder Maxson!" With a hasty salute, the Squire hurried off in the opposite direction.

     Shaking his head, Maxson closed the door of his quarters behind him, pouring himself a glass of bourbon as he sat down to read. It was odd that the file was addressed to him specifically. Perhaps it was more important than usual? When he began reading, that certainly seemed to be the case. Instead of the usual professional and almost detached manner in which Paladin Danse wrote, this read more like a letter. A letter written directly to the Elder himself.

      _Arthur_ _—_ that was odd, Danse never called him by his first name unless they were speaking in private  _— I wanted to send this message directly to you, as it is of the utmost importance. I will go into further detail the next time I am aboard the Prydwen and can speak with you personally, but for now I will have to keep things brief. Wren, that is to say, Initiate Hayworth, has been investigating the Institute even before she was recruited into the Brotherhood. A mercenary under their employ was responsible for the death of her husband and the kidnapping of her infant son. A few days ago she managed to neutralize the mercenary, and in doing so, gained some vital information about the location of the Institute. We were right, Arthur, they are holed up somewhere underground. That's all we know for certain at the moment, but she's learned of a scientist who escaped the Institute and is in hiding. She plans on tracking him down to find out more. Once she does, she has agreed to share any and all information with the Brotherhood. She wants to exact revenge on those responsible for the murder of her husband and to save her son, if at all possible, and knows that we are the best option to help her do so. There is one problem, though, and that is the fact that the scientist is hiding in the Glowing Sea. She is going there in the next few days, after she has finished the necessary preparations and precautions. I cannot leave here to go with her, not now, but she assured me she will not undergo the journey alone. When she makes it back, because I know that she will, I will send word. This could be it, Arthur. Our way to finally find out where those bastards are hidden._

     Maxson had to scrutinize the Paladin's signature to verify the letter's authenticity, its contents were so unbelievable. Even with all the resources and manpower that the Brotherhood had, they had no luck in gaining any information regarding the Institute or its location. But now a Vault-Dweller that, seemingly by luck, had stumbled into their ranks had not only verified that their theory that the Institute was underground was correct, but was on her way to speak with someone from the organization itself? It was almost too good to be true.

     But the Glowing Sea. That was an unnerving prospect, even for someone who had shown their mettle in ways such as she had. Not only was the entire area saturated in enough radiation to kill you in hours, if not minutes, the tales of the monsters that roamed there was enough to put even Maxson on edge. Glowing Deathclaws twice the size of any of the others that roamed the wasteland, radscorpions tough enough to withstand a barrage of firepower; he worried that she wouldn't make it in, let alone out again. 

     There was nothing for it, though. As contradictory as it seemed, her chances of survival were greater if she didn't go in with a small army. At least then she might be able to sneak through, undetected. Besides, the last thing Maxson wanted was for the scientist to be scared off, and their last hope of finding the Institute vanish with him. 

     So he waited. He was a man of action, and impatient by nature, so waiting for news was more difficult than he cared to admit. He sent a message back to Danse, thanking him for informing him of what was happening, and urging him to bring Initiate Hayworth back to the Prydwen as soon as she had returned. 

     Nearly a week passed before he received any news. But then, a message came through that was extremely urgent. 

      _Initiate Hayworth has returned from the Glowing Sea, but she has sustained grievous injuries. We are coming to the Prydwen now. Please tell Knight-Captain Cade to prepare for our arrival._


	2. Injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI Hancock is my precious boy and I love him more than anything on this garbage planet

     Grievous injuries. What exactly that entailed, Maxson did not know, but he did know that Paladin Danse wasn't one to exaggerate. Word of the letter didn't take long to reach the rest of the soldiers aboard the Prydwen, rumors rampant among the ranks, but Maxson didn't have time to concern himself with that. He made his way to the medical bay to inform Knight-Captain Cade of the situation, but he was already preparing a bed and any of the medical equipment necessary for the arrival. Maxson sidestepped a table of blood packs and syringes of Med-X, carefully avoiding Cade, who was scrubbing down the bed with antiseptic before putting sheets on it.

     "With all due respect, Elder, I'm going to have to ask you to leave when the Paladin arrives with the Initiate," Cade said, setting aside the bottle and picking up the bed linens. "If her injuries are as serious as Paladin Danse made them sound, I'm going to need to focus all of my attention on her."

     "Understood," Maxson said, helping place the sheet before moving towards the doorway. "Is there anything that can be done to assist you in your duty?"

     Cade shook his head, starting to sterilize a set of surgical instruments. "Just make sure that no one gets in the way," he said, scrubbing at a scalpel. "Hopefully it won't come to this, but I need to be prepared for the worst case scenario."

     "Better than being caught off-guard. Though, if Paladin Danse's reports are anything to go by, she's not one to go down without a fight."

     "We can only hope."

     Maxson turned to the doorway only to find a small crowd had gathered in the hall outside, talking in hushed voices, obviously waiting to get a glimpse of Danse and the Initiate. He scowled to himself and cleared his throat, the buzz immediately fading into hurried salutes and awkward glances. 

     "I suggest you return to your duties, or I'm sure Proctor Ingram will find some part of the Prydwen that needs to be thoroughly cleaned," Maxson said, voice stern. The crowd dissipated in moments, clearing the hall once again. He rubbed at his beard like he usually did when agitated as he made his way up to the flight deck. Kells was already there, watching out over the Commonwealth with the usual neutral expression.

     "Any sign of them?"

     Kells pointed a gloved finger at a Vertibird in the distance; a dark smudge that was rapidly approaching. "We don't have any birds returning from patrol until thirteen hundred hours, Elder, so that's most likely the Paladin."

     Maxson nodded, hands resting at the small of his back. It didn't take long for the Vertibird to arrive, docking with the usual harsh sound of steel on steel, accompanied by the sound of someone shouting. A voice Maxson immediately recognized as Danse. As soon as the ship was safely secured to the Prydwen, the Paladin climbed out. It was a rare thing to see him without his power armor, but this was one such occasion. He ran towards the deck as fast as he could while carrying the blood-soaked person cradled in his arms. A person that could only be Wren.

     Danse met Kells and Maxson with little to no greeting beyond asking if Knight-Captain Cade was ready for them. 

     "Yes, he was finishing preparations when I last spoke with him." Maxson took a moment to evaluate the situation. Danse was covered in blood, both dried and fresh. What was left of Wren's right arm was wrapped in bandages that were already saturated with blood, it was clear that the damage extended all the way up to her shoulder and onto parts of her chest. Gashes marred her face, white hair matted to her cheek with gore. In his experience, only one wasteland beast was capable of inflicting such damage. Without really meaning to, Maxson's fingers brushed up against the scar on his cheek; he'd faced many foes over the years, but none haunted him as much as that Deathclaw. And here, now, was even more proof of how dangerous even a single one of those monsters were. Initiate Hayworth was lucky to have made it out alive at all. 

     "Scribe Haylen administered a few doses of Radaway before we left the police station, but she might need more." Danse's voice was deceptively calm, but his eyes were wide and his arms shaking. 

     "Get her to the medical bay, Paladin, and once she's there, meet me in my quarters." The man was clearly in need of a stiff drink.

     Danse nodded before rushing off, leaving droplets of blood sparkling on the floor like pre-war gems as he went. Maxson made his way back inside and to his room, pulling an assortment of liquor out from the filing cabinet next to his desk. For some reason, people thought it necessary to give him gifts on his birthday, even though he never really celebrated it, and for some reason the majority of those gifts were bottles of liquor. So he had quite the assortment, seeing as he only drank on occasion. Like today. 

     It wasn't too long after Maxson had set out the bottles and two clean drinking glasses that there was a knock on his door. Danse entered, looking just as disheveled, if a bit less bloody, as before. He'd changed into a clean uniform and scrubbed most of the blood off of his face. Maxson ushered him into the room and poured him a glass of whiskey while he sat. 

     "Drink up, Paladin," Maxson said, pushing the glass into Danse's hands. He muttered a quiet thank you before downing the contents in one swallow. "Now, whenever you're ready, I would like to hear exactly what happened to Initiate Hayworth."

     Danse helped himself to another drink before he began to speak. "Before she left, I made certain that Wren was stocked up on all of the essentials. Radaway, Rad-X. She lined an entire suit of power armor with lead to protect herself from as much radiation as she could. I even gave her one of my spare fusion cores." He shook his head, making a bitter sound. "I guess something happened and the suit malfunctioned. Thank god she had a hazmat suit as backup, but that wasn't going to protect her from..." 

     "I recognized the injuries as soon as I saw them. As bad as they are, they could have been much worse. Deathclaws are ruthless."

     Danse heaved a sigh. "You'll get no argument from me. I... I just hope there won't be any lasting damage."

     "I trust Knight-Captain Cade will do everything he can to treat her, but I won't lie. The injury she sustained to her arm looked...alarming, to say the least."

     "I know it does. Scribe Haylen dressed the more serious wounds as best she could before he took off to come here, but there wasn't much she could do beyond bandage it to stop the bleeding. She wanted to set the bone, only, well, there really isn't any bone left. It was pulverized."

     Maxson cursed softly under his breath. "How the hell did she even make it out?"

     An odd look crossed the Paladin's face. "Wren is still new to the ranks, and while she shares our ultimate goal and many of our ideals, from time to time she keeps questionable company."

    "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

    "When she told me she wasn't going into the Glowing Sea alone, I didn't question it. I was just happy she'd have a companion. But she went in with a ghoul. Apparently he calls himself the mayor of some scummy part of Boston inhabited by junkies and other freaks. On one hand, it wasn't the worst idea, seeing as a ghoul is immune to radioactivity, but I am a bit disappointed. I had no idea until we received a signal from the distress pulser I'd sent with her. By the time we'd headed southwest towards her last location, the ghoul was already carrying her out. At least it was smart enough to dress her wounds and keep her dosed up with radaway. Especially since her hazmat suited was all but gone, ripped into ribbons."

     There was a moment of silence as Danse downed another drink. Maxson set his own glass aside and crossed his arms. "Did the ghoul tell you anything? Where they were attacked? Had they found the scientist or were they unsuccessful?" he asked.

     "No, apparently they were able to find him. Brian Virgil. Apparently he was one of the top scientists in the Bioscience division of the Institute. They were nearly out of the Glowing Sea when they were attacked by the Deathclaw. The ghoul said it used some kind of camouflage that made it impossible to detect until it was already too late. Before they could even react, Wren was already in the thing's jaws." Danse rummaged around in one of his pockets for a moment before passing a rough object several inches long into Maxson's hand. 

     His eyes grew wide. "Is this what I think it is?" Danse nodded grimly.

     "One of its teeth. Scribe Haylen dislodged it from the Initiate's shoulder."

     Maxson shook his head in disbelief. "She should be dead. How did she make it out of that monster's mouth before it crushed her?"

     "She had a combat knife stashed in her boot. Somehow she was able to reach it and stab the Deathclaw in the eye hard enough to fracture the socket and puncture its brain." Danse couldn't help but allow a small smile. "Sound familiar?"

     Again, the Elder touched the scar on his face with a grimace. "Don't remind me," he mumbled.

     "Wren actually reminds me of you quite a bit, Arthur. She's ambitious, cunning, resourceful. Stubborn, but in an almost admirable way. And she's a fighter. You should have seen her help us fight off those ferals. We were all but overrun and she didn't even flinch when she threw herself right into the fray." Danse stared into the contents of his glass for a moment before swallowing it all. "I know that losing her would mean losing information on the Institute, but more importantly, we'd be losing a good soldier. A good person. We can't let that happen."

     Before either of them could continue, there was a soft knock on the door. Maxson stood and answered, Scribe Haylen standing on the other side, looking utterly exhausted.

     "Elder Maxson, Paladin Danse. Knight-Captain Cade sent me to inform you that he's finished with Initiate Hayworth, and you're welcome to come back to the medical bay. She's heavily sedated, but he wanted to fill you in on all of the details."

     Danse let out a long breath. "Thank god."

     "You can't blame yourself, sir. You know as well as I that even if you had forbidden her from going until a team could be organized, Initiate Hayworth would have went anyway," Haylen said, frowning softly. 

     Danse opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Maxson cut him off. "I'll be on my way to the medical bay. Would I be correct in assuming you'll be accompanying me, Paladin?"

     "Oh. Yes, Elder Maxson." Danse stood and gave Haylen an apologetic look. "Thank you. Please take the rest of the evening to rest. You need it."

     Maxson closed the door behind them before they departed. He wasn't sure what exactly would be waiting for them when they got there, but it was better to find out sooner or later, he reasoned. Cade was jotting some notes down when they arrived. He looked up from his clipboard and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

     "Elder. Paladin. I'm sure Scribe Haylen already told you, but I'm keeping Initiate Hayworth under sedation until the morning to allow her to rest. Then it'll be a strict routine of Med-X to keep her pain under control and stimpaks to speed up the healing process." Cade set aside the paperwork. "The good news is there is no sign of infection, but unfortunately the damage to her arm was too significant for me to repair. I had to amputate it up to the shoulder."

     Maxson's stomach sank; he'd known that it was likely that she would lose the arm, but it was still grim news. "I'm sure you did everything you could," he said. "Perhaps, when she's recovered, we'll be able to fit her for some form of prosthetic?"

     "I don't see why not," Cade said with a shrug. "We can discuss it further with her when she's awake and coherent. The arm was the least of her worries, though. I have given her several doses of radaway to clear any lingering radiation from her bloodstream, but it was more of a precaution. It's likely that she'll be nauseous for the next week or so as her body purges any contaminants, but there is no lasting damage from the exposure."

     It was likely they had the ghoul that was travelling with her to thank for that, but Maxson wouldn't say anything.

     "Any other pertinent information, Knight-Captain?" Maxson asked.

     "None at the moment, Elder. She'll be up and moving in a few days, but it will likely be around six to eight weeks before she's recovered enough to return to field work."

     "She won't be too happy about that," Danse said with the faintest hint of humour in his voice.

     "Perhaps not, but I'm sure she'll be happy to be alive, Paladin," Cade shot back, gathering up his papers again. "Again, she's asleep at the moment, but you're welcome to sit with her if you'd like."

     Danse took a half step forward but Maxson stopped him. "You need to get some rest, Paladin. I'll stay with the Initiate."

     "Sir, I would rather -"

     "That's an  _order,_ Paladin. Now go. I'll send for you if anything changes."

     Danse looked irritated but obeyed, giving Maxson a salute before dismissing himself to his room. The Elder turned to Cade and gave him a rare smile.

     "Thank you. I know this was a difficult thing to pull off in such short notice."

     "I'm just doing my job, Elder Maxson. Besides, I have to admit, the excitement was nice. For once, at least. I'd rather it not become a regular occurance."

     Maxson just laughed before he approached the bed where Wren was laying. He pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable. It would be a long night.


	3. Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little dialogue heavy. Sorry about that! Next chapter will have some more action, I promise!

     When morning came, it was the sound of rustling sheets that roused Maxson from his admittedly light slumber, hunched over in the chair he'd been in all night. It took him a moment to remember where exactly he was, passing a hand over his eyes as he took a moment to fully wake. From the bed, Wren made a soft sound. The sedatives must have been wearing off, he thought.

     Whatever he had been expecting when reading Danse's reports, it certainly wasn't the woman before him. If he didn't trust the Paladin as much as he did, Maxson would be inclined to call him a liar. There was no way anyone could believe that someone so small could take out as many ferals as Danse said she had. Wren looked no older than Maxson himself, small in both height and weight. Surely the Deathclaw that had attacked her should have snapped her in two easier than a twig. Yet there were lines in her face painted there by time, and he knew better than most that this wasteland made you grow up faster than perhaps you wanted to. 

     "Oh, for fuck's  _sake,_ Danse, please tell me you didn't stay here all night." Maxson was so startled by her speaking that he visibly flinched. Wren's voice was harsh as she continued to wake. "Is there any water? I'm drier than the Mojave over here."

     Maxson felt his lips twitch upwards into a smile, but his voice was still the same deep rumble as ever when he spoke. "I sent Paladin Danse to get some rest last night. It was clear he needed it. I know he has the tendency to run himself ragged." The woman tensed, but Maxson continued. "There's water on the table beside you. Do you need help getting to it?"

     "No, I can get it." She made a movement as if trying to sit up before going still. "It's gone, isn't it? My arm?" The question hung in the air for a moment.

     "I'm afraid that it was beyond saving. So, yes, it was amputated."

     Wren huffed, almost an annoyed sound. "I thought it would be. Just what I needed." She turned her head to Maxson, eyes shining out despite the bandages looped around the left side of her face. "On second thought, yes, if you could help me sit, that would be much appreciated."

     Maxson nodded and took her hand, steadying her with an arm around her shoulders as she pulled herself up. Once there, Wren muttered her thanks before reaching for the bottle of purified water sitting on the bedside table. 

     "You're taking the loss of a limb better than I suspect most people would," Maxson observed.

     She shrugged. "I'm left handed. Besides, it's better than the alternative." She made a slashing motion across her throat and Maxson chuckled softly. No, she certainly was  _not_ what he had expected, but that wasn't such a bad thing. "I'm Wren, by the way. Or, uh, Initiate Hayworth, as Dan- er, Paladin Danse is so insistent on calling me."

     "Your reputation precedes you," he responded, a small smile still on his face. "Paladin Danse speaks highly of you. I don't often read field reports, but with how many of them he filed concerning you, I couldn't help but find myself anticipating when the next one would come in."

     Wren paused, lowering the container of water and fixing him with an amused look. "You must be Elder Maxson."

     "Yes, I am." She let out a laugh and Maxson frowned, confused. "Is there something humorous about that, Initiate?"

     "Not really, it's just..." Wren shrugged, setting the water back on the bedside table. "You look too young to be an Elder. You look younger than me." A thoughtful look crossed her face. "Though I suppose almost everyone is younger than me nowadays."

     Maxson was still frowning, so she offered an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything, sir. I just never liked titles. I heard my late husband called by one more often than not and I never really liked it."

     "Paladin Danse informed me of your situation. I am very sorry for the losses you endured." He had lost people along the way — they all had — but he could not imagine what it would be like to lose a spouse and child all at once. 

     "I try not to dwell on it too much. I don't know how much Danse told you, but my son is still out there, and I'm going to find him. Even if I have to take on an army to do so." Wren met his eye with an intensity he was not used to. One that caused a tug in his stomach. Only a few people had ever matched his gaze like that.

     "Yes, he told me your son was taken from you. And by the Institute, no less." He shook his head, a disgusted look painted across his face. "We share a common goal, and I assure you that the Brotherhood of Steel will do all we can to assist you. The Institute must be stopped before it's too late."

     "Thank you. That means a lot." She gazed around the room for a moment as if to take stock of her surroundings, left hand scratching absently at the bandages covering up where her right arm had been amputated. "I'll admit, it's sort of comforting to be somewhere so...well, for lack of a better word, military. Seems like you're taking after Roger well enough. Man was soldier through and through."

     "Excuse me?" Maxson almost couldn't believe his ears. "Are you referring to Roger Maxson? You speak as if you know him. You do realize he died over a century ago?" Maybe she had lost more blood than they had originally thought. 

     "Well, I'd be sort of shocked if he was still alive. But, yes, I knew him. He and his wife joined us for dinner a few times before he was stationed in California." Wren spoke in a disinterested tone, as if talking about dining with a man who was widely regarded as a holy figure among the Brotherhood was as mundane as talking about the weather. "He and my late husband, Nate, went to school together." She looked up and laughed at Maxson's face, which was frozen in an expression of disbelief. 

     "I guess Danse didn't tell you everything, then," she chuckled. "The Vault I was in? Vault 111? I don't know what the fu- uh, sorry, I don't know what went on in the rest of them, but that vault had us sealed up in some kind of cryogenic storage? First time I thawed out was when they took Shaun, but the pod was closed. I only got out recently."

     "You're telling me you were alive  _before_ the Great War? You were there when the bombs fell?" The words sounded foreign even as they left his lips. The only things that existed today that had survived the war were the ghouls, and the vast majority of them were feral beasts. To be faced with someone who had been there, seen the world before it was destroyed, and for them to be as whole as they were when it all happened was unheard of. Maxson shook his head, still trying to comprehend what exactly this meant.

     "It was the most terrifying day of my life. We'd been living in Sanctuary Hills for a few months and had only just felt like we were settling in nicely. Getting to know the neighbors, that sort of thing. I remember how beautiful it was outside that day. Blue skies and sunshine. The trees just starting to change colour. But...but when we heard the news, and started to make our way up to the Vault, it was complete and utter chaos. So much screaming. People were crying, running, or just standing there, staring up at the sky as if waiting for the bombs to fall on them. We barely made it into the Vault when I saw the mushroom cloud."

     The Elder just stared. The goal of the Brotherhood had always been to keep mankind from repeating the same mistakes they had in the past. To prevent the destruction of humanity for a second time. And yet here, some two hundred years later, was someone who had not only survived the nuclear holocaust that had killed millions, if not billions, but was able to tell the tale. He had so many questions. About the world, about the war itself, but Maxson knew that now was not the time. Though the world had moved on since the devastation, it was still fresh to her, and it would not do to go picking at the wounds.

     "Truly, I am sorry. It must have been a shock for you to wake up to a world like this."

     "At first, yeah. But again, I try not to dwell on it. My generation was the one that fucked this planet up. The least I can do is try and keep it from happening again."

     Maxson raised an eyebrow, again impressed. "Seems we have more goals in common than just destroying the Institute," he said with a smile, which Wren returned. 

     "Seems that way," she said. "And speaking of things in common, I hear you've tangled with Deathclaws before, too. Though, judging by the fact that you still have all of your extremities, I'd say you fared better than me."

     He couldn't help but laugh at that. "You should know just as well as I that it was only sheer, dumb luck that kept me alive."

     "Danse told me you were just a kid. And that you killed it with a knife."

     "Yes, that's correct. He also told _me_ that you finished off your own Deathclaw with a knife as well. Going straight for the eyes was a wise decision. There aren't many weak points on those beasts."

     "Isn't that an understatement. Growing up, I always liked to pretend I was a knight, off slaying dragons. Never thought I'd end up actually fighting one. Or at least the closest to a dragon I'll ever get. At least Deathclaws don't breathe fire, right?" Wren laughed but then paused. "Uh, there isn't some weird variant of them that does breathe fire, right?"

     "No, I don't think so," he chuckled. "There were ants that could breathe fire in the Capital Wasteland, but I've never heard of a fire-breathing Deathclaw."

     "Thank god for that." Wren looked almost relieved, leaning back against her pillows. "I draw the line at invisible Deathclaws, thanks."

     "I don't envy you that fight at all. I thought mine was bad enough, and it was just your standard Deathclaw."

     "Still, you have to seven kinds of crazy to go up against anything with the word 'death' in its name."

     Maxson spread his hands, knowing full well she was right. Wren reached over and picked up her water again, taking a few more sips from the container. He continued to watch her, not really knowing why, exactly, but there was an odd feeling that settled in his stomach. Like the warmth of alcohol without the burn. Whatever it was, it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

     "You're awake!" 

     Danse's sudden arrival made both of them jump, not having heard him approach. Wren choked on her water, coughing harshly several times before shooting him a look.

     "Yeah, but you're going to kill me if you don't stop sneaking up on me like that," she snapped.

     Much to Maxson's surprise, instead of reprimanding her for addressing him in such a fashion, Danse just laughed. The Elder chalked it up to the lack of sleep and what he guessed was an overwhelming sense of relief. After all, the Paladin had lost most of his team. The fear of losing another would certainly weigh heavy on his shoulders.

     "I'm just happy to see you awake and coherent. Let's not make me carrying you like a rag doll a regular occurrence, understood?" Danse joked.

     Wren feigned a somber expression and thumped her fist to her chest in a salute. "Yes, sir, Paladin Danse, sir!" she shouted, but there was laughter in her words. Maxson shook his head. Again, not what he had expected.

     "I hate to cut this touching reunion short," he said, "but I think I speak for the entirety of the Brotherhood when I ask; were you able to locate the rogue scientist?"

     Wren's face lit up immediately. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Yeah, I did. Brian Virgil. Pretty big deal until he had to run for his life, I guess. He told me there's a way to get in via teleportation. Only problem is, if I want to get in, I have to track down a Courser first."

     Maxson and Danse exchanged meaningful looks. Synths were bad enough, let alone Coursers. Merciless and well-versed in combat, Coursers were fortunately rare. Finding one would be no easy task.

     "And did he tell you how exactly you are to go about doing this?" Maxson asked, arms folding across his chest.

     "Yes, actually. Apparently they have some kind of chip implanted in them, and I can pick up the frequency on the radio on my Pip-Boy, wherever the fuck that got off to."

     "I kept a hold of it for you," Danse interjected. "Don't worry."

     "You did? Thank you." Wren positively beamed at him. Danse nodded in acknowledgement before turning his gaze elsewhere; Maxson could practically feel the heat emanating from the Paladin's cheeks even from where he was sitting.

     "I should go. No doubt there's a good amount of tasks waiting for me." Maxson stood up from his chair and straightened his coat. "It was good to meet you, Initiate. I don't doubt I'll be seeing you again very soon." He gave her and Danse a salute before turning to leave. 

     "Hey, Elder. One more thing before you go."

     Maxson turned back to Wren, one eyebrow arched upwards. "Yes, Initiate?"

     Wren pointed a finger at the bandages covering the left side of her face. "Think we'll match?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowee people are actually reading this and honestly I'm so flattered that you guys like it!! Thanks for the comments/kudos and know that I love you all very much! <3


	4. Improvement

     Maxson knew he was an impatient man, but Wren was even more restless. Knight-Captain Cade made her stay in the medical bay for a few days after she came to, if only to make doubly sure that her wounds stayed clean. Wren, clearly irritated, had begrudgingly agreed, but the moment she was cleared to leave, Cade swore up and down that she had sprinted from the medical bay as if fleeing a platoon of Gunners. Danse eventually found her in the armor bay, chatting with Proctor Ingram about modding power armor. He'd showed her around the rest of the Prydwen and introduced her to the rest of the crew before Maxson requested both of them come to see him in the briefing room.

     The Elder was staring out at the Commonwealth as he waited for them to arrive. From aboard the Prydwen, so far above the ruined earth, the wasteland almost looked peaceful. One could almost forget how fragile a world it really was, teetering on a precipice and dangerously close to collapsing once again. He knew their arrival had sparked a decent amount of controversy, and that it would take time to build up trust with the Commonwealth at large, but Maxson hoped beyond hope that the people here would, if not accept the help, at least know better than to interfere. 

     Something easier said than done, it seemed. Which is why having civilians join the ranks was so crucial to their mission. It was easier to build up credibility with someone when one of their own joined the fold. Wren may have been a Vault-Dweller, but she had a good reputation around the Commonwealth. Even if they didn't know her personally, people knew her name. She was a valuable addition to the Brotherhood for that reason alone, not to mention her intel on the Institute. Maxson wasn't one to put much stock in luck, but her arrival had been fortunate in more ways than one.

     He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps and the unmistakable whirring of power armor. 

     "You sent for us, Elder Maxson?" Danse was suited up again, making Wren appeared even smaller than usual. Despite this, she looked just as cocky as usual, left hand planted firmly on her hip, grey eyes locked on Maxson's face with her usual intensity. 

     "That I did. I wanted you to be here, Danse, considering the fact that you're Initiate Hayworth's sponsor." Maxson turned to face the pair, hands resting at the small of his back. He turned his gaze to Wren, the corners of his lips pulled upwards into a slight smile. "Based on the recommendation of Paladin Danse, I'm granting you the rank of Knight."

     Wren looked between Maxson and Danse, who was wearing a proud grin. "Wow. I'm, uh, I'm flattered," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. 

     "The title is well-earned, as far as I'm concerned," Maxson said. "I seem to recall you telling me you disliked titles, but I hope you'll bear this one with pride."

     "I don't really know what to say except thank you. I promise I'll try not to screw anything up too badly," she said, laughing nervously.

     "I'm sure you'll make us all proud," Danse said, still beaming. 

     "I agree," Maxson said with a nod. "As Knight, you now have your own set of power armor, which I hope will fare better than your previous set." Wren laughed at that. "But there was something else I wished to discuss with you. I don't know if he has brought the matter up with you, but Knight-Captain Cade informed that he wanted to start fitting you for a prosthetic. It can't be placed until the wound is further healed, but the preparations can be made and materials allocated."

     Wren lightly touched the bandages on her shoulder. Maxson had touched base with Cade the day previous to check up on Wren's recovery, and the Knight-Captain had told him that she was patching up nicely. Between doses of Med-X for the pain and stimpaks at regular intervals, he guessed the wound would be healed within the next seven to ten days. Plenty of time to plan ahead for the cybernetics she'd need for the prosthesis. 

     "That would be wonderful," Wren said, clearly relieved. "I don't know how much it'll cost, but I'll pay you back once I can -"

     Maxson lifted a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. "That won't be necessary. It may not have been an official assignment, but in my opinion, you were still injured in the line of duty. And the Brotherhood takes care of their own." Wren flushed at that, and Maxson felt a tug in his chest that made him clear his throat and turn his eyes away, hands once again wrapping around behind him. "Knight-Captain Cade and Proctor Ingram will be the ones in charge of getting you fitted. They wanted to meet with you in the medical bay tomorrow at thirteen hundred hours to begin the process. Do you have any questions?"

     Wren shook her head, tucking a strand of snowy hair behind her ear. "No, I don't," she said softly. "I don't know how to thank you."

     "Make us proud, Knight."

* * *

 

     "I'm sure you'll make me proud, kiddo." Stelle ruffled Arthur's hair with a laugh, and he groaned. 

     "Just because you're taller than me doesn't mean you get to pick on me all the time!" he said, pushing himself up onto his tip-toes, but still unable to reach the Vault-Dweller's height. She laughed again, giving the boy a fond smile, which he returned with a sour look. Stelle wasn't a member of the Brotherhood of Steel, but she came and went from the Citadel so often it was almost like she was. 

     And though he wouldn't ever admit it, Arthur didn't mind. Not really. She teased him, but was never mean. Stelle was smart and kind and funny. Not to mention she smuggled him in snack cakes when she came to visit, and would tell him stories of her latest skirmishes with the scum of the Capital Wasteland.

     "Sarah told me you fought a Deathclaw not too long ago. Did you? Was it as big as people say they are?" Arthur shifted out of reach of her arm, and Stelle huffed.

     "Yeah, it was pretty big. But I saw it coming from a ways away, so I was able to light it up before it got too close." She mimed firing a minigun. Arthur let out a low whistle.

     "That's amazing. Maybe I'll get to fight one someday."

     Stelle shook her head. "For your sake, I hope you don't."

     "You don't think I can do it." He puffed out his chest. "I've killed stuff before."

     "Yeah, and shot Sentinel Lyons while doing so." Arthur deflated and she smoothed back his hair. "You're just a kid, Arthur. Don't be in such a hurry to grow up. Once you do, you'll have to do lots of things you won't want. You'll have to make decisions that people won't like, and learn to live with the consequences. And all you'll want is to be a kid again."

     Her green eyes looked distant as she spoke, and he sighed.

     "I just want to help. My mother sent me here because she thought I needed to grow up. I just want to make her proud."

     "You're going to make us all proud, Arthur Maxson. Don't you worry."

* * *

 

     It was times like this when he wondered if he had. In the brief time he'd known her, Stelle had been a good, caring friend. When Maxson had learned of her death to bring Project Purity to fruition, he was devastated. Of all the losses he had endured over the years, the death of the Lone Wanderer was still the one that haunted him most. She hadn't deserved to die. 

     Of course there was Sarah Lyons, too. Sarah, who had taught him that stabbing a man in the kidneys was the best way to kill them. Who had cuffed him upside the head when he'd grazed her with that bullet, but never told anyone it was him. Who he was now - a large portion of that was because of those two women, ripped away because of this godforsaken wasteland. Maxson only hoped that what he was doing now would have made them proud to have known him.

     He pulled himself up from his terminal, shrugging back into his heavy battlecoat before making his way out and to the medical bay. The fitting process was done and today was the day when Wren was due to finally get the cybernetics hooked up. Cade had warned her it would be a painful procedure, but it would be over quickly. As always, Knight Hayworth had just grinned and told him to bring it on.

     "I know I told you some whiskey would help calm your nerves, but that didn't mean I wanted you to come in here smelling like a goddamn liquor store." Proctor Ingram's voice could be heard even from down the hall.

     Maxson entered the medical bay, where Wren was stretched out over one of the cots, left arm slung over her face, jaw clenched as Cade worked on her shoulder. Ingram was standing by, ready to intervene if Wren tried to move away.

     "Don't worry 'bout me, Proctor, 'm fine," Wren slurred. "Fuck that hurts, thought y'said it'd be quick."

     "It seems I've come in at a bad time."

     Ingram snorted. "You have no idea, Elder. Between the alcohol and the Med-X, though, I'm surprised she feels anything."

     Maxson raised a brow down at Wren, who had lowered her arm and was grinning sheepishly up at him. "You're  _drunk,_ Knight Hayworth?"

     "Only a little," she argued. He pinched the bridge of his nose and made a frustrated sound.

     "I suppose, given the situation, it can be excused this once. But being drunk in public is conduct unbefitting someone of your rank."

     Wren didn't answer, gritting her teeth again as Cade jostled her around a bit. 

     "Just fine-tuning some of the connectors. I wouldn't want you to try and grab something and crush it because your grip strength is off."

     There was a few clicks and scraping sounds before he leaned back, wiping his brow on his sleeve. "There. We're all finished. You should be able to move it now, Knight. Knight?"

     Ingram looked amused. "I...I think she's passed out, Knight-Captain."

* * *

 

     "You've got decent aim for someone who lost an arm." Maxson looked over the target Wren had been shooting at. All but a few shots had landed dead center.

     "I've done better. Nate and I used to go shooting all the time." Wren shrugged, reloading her laser pistol. "This arm is heavy. I have to learn to distribute my body weight properly again." She flexed the fingers of her right hand; the arm was strangely beautiful, the metal new and gleaming. Wren made no effort to conceal it, either. Maxson supposed most people would have been embarrassed by having such an obvious prosthetic, but not her. She all but flaunted it, even going so far as to challenge half the Prydwen to arm wrestling matches.

     "Take the compliment, Knight Hayworth. I don't give them often."

     She snorted, taking aim and firing, her shot burning through the center of the target. "It's just us, you know. You don't have to keep calling me Knight."

     Maxson was glad she was facing away from him when he felt heat spreading across his face. "I suppose. If that's what you want. Though, if that's the case, it's only fair you refer to me by my first name as well."

     Wren lowered the pistol and shot him a grin over her shoulder. "First name basis with the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel. I'd say I'm moving up in the world." She held the pistol out towards him. "Here. Let's see what you've got,  _Arthur."_

     So few used his given name so casually it almost sounded like a foreign language. Admittedly, though, it was nice to hear it used at all. Especially, he thought, by her. 

     He took the pistol from her hands and fired three shots in rapid succession, each one hitting their mark. Wren clapped for him, grey eyes shining.

     "Not bad," she said. "It's like you've done this before."

     They passed the pistol back and forth between the two of them until the floor of the shooting gallery was littered with spent fusion cells. After disposing of them, Wren sighed heavily, rubbing the place on her shoulder where her flesh melted into metal.

     "Is something on your mind, Kni- ah, Wren?" Maxson asked, narrowing his eyes at her. "Are you in pain?"

     "No, I'm fine. I just... I know I haven't been cleared for field duty just yet, but I can't stay here sitting on my ass for much longer." She crossed her arms and fixed him with her now characteristic potency. "It's been three weeks. I have to go and do  _something._ Coursers aren't gonna track themselves, you know?"

     "You can't be serious. You're still recovering, Wren. You can't go running off and getting yourself killed. I know you're impatient, but you have to think of the long term."

     "With all due respect, fuck the long term. I'm leaving tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stelle was my first Lone Wanderer, and since I didn't have Broken Steel, I never really considered that to be part of her canon ending. Besides, I'm a sucker for heroic sacrifices. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Lots of fluff coming up next chapter!


	5. Initiative

     "Tomorrow." Maxson echoed the word back, eyebrows knitting together. Wren just nodded. "You said it yourself; you haven't been cleared for field duty. Why would I allow you to run off after a Courser, of all things?"

    "Because the longer I wait, the longer it takes me to find my son, and the longer it will take for you to get into the Institute and keep them from churning out synths," she said calmly, planting her hands on her hips. "Besides, I wouldn't be going on my own. I'd have someone with me."

     "Someone like a ghoul?" Maxson asked, not even attempting to disguise the loathing in his words. 

     Wren bristled, narrowing her eyes at him, gaze cold. "John is the only reason I'm even alive right now," she growled. 

     "That's not... I didn't... This is beside the point. You shouldn't be going at  _all,_ regardless of who you take with you." Maxson sighed heavily, rubbing his chin as he usually did when flustered. "Not until Knight-Captain Cade clears you for duty. You're no use to the Brotherhood  _or_ your son if you get yourself injured again. Or worse."

     "You don't know what it's like. To watch your child taken away and be able to do nothing. I refuse to sit here and do nothing." Her words were laced with ice, sharper than steel, and Maxson knew that he couldn't argue the point further. But for his irritation at her insubordinate attitude, he was equally impressed; this was the way a parent should be. Ferocious in their love, unwavering in their desire to care for their child. He shook his head at her, and Wren's expression softened a fraction.

     "I can look after myself. Besides, you don't need to worry. Paladin Danse already agreed to come with me." Her lips curved upwards a bit. "Seems like you aren't the only one concerned that I'll run face-first into a Deathclaw's mouth again." 

     He laughed weakly. "I respect your tenacity, Knight. It's sorely needed here in the Commonwealth."

     "No kidding. When I got to Diamond City and found out people all but ignore kidnappings, I couldn't believe it. It's like everyone here is sleepwalking and they only wake up when it's too late."

     "I agree. I know our arrival was not met with enthusiasm, but perhaps it woke a few people up to the fact that someone needed to take action."

     Wren tapped her nose. "Exactly. Now, are we in agreement on my departure, or will Danse and I have to resort to sneaking out of the Prydwen like a couple of horny high-school students?"

     He felt his eyes widen slightly, but he covered it with a stern expression, lips pressed together. "That...that won't be necessary, Knight," he said coolly. "I won't try and stop you."

     She flashed a toothy grin, clearly pleased with herself. It would have been irritating if the smile hadn't lit up her face in way that made Maxson want to see it every day from that point forward.

     "Well, then, I guess I'd better get my ducks in a row and get some rest, huh?" She holstered her pistol and rubbed the elbow joint of her prosthetic as if massaging it. "It'll be a bit of a trek to get to the CIT ruins, so I'd like to leave before daybreak. Getting the Paladin to leave that early shouldn't be too difficult. Does that man ever sleep?"

     "Not that I've ever seen," Maxson chuckled. 

     Wren shook her head, starting to make her way out of the shooting gallery. "No wonder Scribe Haylen frets over him like she does. He's going to work himself to death. Can't see him going out any other way, though, to be honest." Before he could express his agreement, Wren lifted a hand and left him standing in the room by himself. "See you later, Elder."

     The rest of the day went on without much incident. There was the usual amount of paperwork to be filed, reports to catch up on, meetings with the Proctors to discuss supply runs and address the day-to-day needs of the crew. By the time Maxson had finished up his rounds, it was well past 22:00. The Prydwen was all but deserted, with the exception of those on guard rotation. It was nice; he didn't get too many nights were he could enjoy the peace and quiet. 

     Maxson walked through the empty armor bay on his way back to his quarters, stopping for a moment to look over the sets of power armor stored there. Wren's was recognizable almost instantly. It was the standard issue set of T-60b armor, painted with the Knight's insignia, but it was clear she had been tinkering with it, seeing as several pieces were changed. The headlamp had a different bulb, she had fitted the knuckles on the right arm with what appeared to be pieces of serrated metal. Minor modifications, but useful. 

     He took a step back when he heard someone approaching, whistling a cheerful and vaguely familiar tune. Wren entered the bay, carrying an armload of tools and what appeared to be a set of coils. When she noticed Maxson standing there, she jumped, cursing loudly as tools scattered across the floor.

     "Shit, what are you doing down here?" Wren demanded, chasing a screwdriver down before it rolled under a table.

     "What? Am I not allowed to walk around my own vessel?" Maxson teased, picking up a wrench. "Besides, I could ask you the same question. What happened to getting some rest?"

     "I couldn't sleep," she replied, frowning. After gathering up the rest of her tools, she set them on the bench beside her armor. "Figured I'd do something useful instead of staring at the ceiling."

     Maxson clicked his tongue reproachfully. "And you accuse Paladin Danse of being a workaholic."

     Wren huffed, using her screwdriver to remove the chest panel on her armor. "Because he is. At least I know how to cut loose sometimes." 

     "Obviously. You certainly aren't working on a set of power armor when most reasonable people are sleeping."

     "Shut up, before I chuck my screwdriver at you."

     Maxson laughed quietly. "You shouldn't threaten the leader of the wasteland's biggest military force."

     "Probably not, but he deserves it." She smirked before concentrating on the armor again, placing the coils in the chest cavity with deft fingers. 

     "What exactly are you doing?" he asked, leaning over to view her handiwork closer.

     "Tesla coils. When I start them up, it'll charge up a sort of electric field so if anything gets too close," she slapped her hands together, "zap! They're toast."

     "Clever. I've seen a few sets of power armor with the same sort of modification in the hands to stun enemies in hand to hand combat, but this takes it to a new level. You'll have to show Proctor Ingram. She's always interested in new ways to mod our armor."

     Wren nodded, finishing up with the coils before trying to hold the chest plate back in the place to screw it in again. Maxson placed his hands beside hers on the metal. "Here, let me help you."

     She gave him a quizzical look, and this close to her, he could see his own reflection in her starlight eyes, which gazed out at him from under thick lashes. A piece of hair had fallen from her messy ponytail into her face, and he resisted the urge to brush it away. Wren muttered her thanks and screwed the plate in before stepping away from him. A movement that disappointed him, though he couldn't put his finger on  _why._

     They both spoke at once.

     "I should go try to sleep again."

     "Would you care to join me for a drink?"

     Wren looked amused. "What was that, Elder?"

     Maxson hoped that in the low lighting, she wouldn't notice the warmth that blossomed across the bridge of his nose, but if her delighted expression was anything to go by, she definitely had. 

     "A drink," he repeated. "To help you relax." His words came out so slurred that it sounded like he'd already overindulged himself, and he hadn't touched any liquor in days.

     "If anyone here needs to relax, Arthur, it's you." Wren's words were teasing but gentle, and she smiled warmly at him. "But to answer your question, sure. I could use a nightcap."

     Maxson led her back to his quarters, trying not to appear too eager. He held the door open for her and made sure it was closed behind them. Wren had already picked up a bottle of rum that was sitting beside his terminal, looking over the label.

     "If you would prefer something else, I can -"

     Wren shook her head. "No, no, this is fine. More than fine, actually. This would've been a pretty pricey bottle of liquor back before the bombs dropped."

      Maxson frowned; it looked like an ordinary bottle of rum to him, but he was far from a connoisseur. "Really?"

     "Oh, yeah. I don't know what the exact cap-to-dollar ratio is, but for this particular bottle you'd be looking at..." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Oh, I dunno. Five, six hundred caps?"

     "For a bottle of liquor."

     "Hey, I never said I agreed with it, but yeah. For a bottle of liquor that gets you drunk just as fast as the cheap stuff." Wren cracked the bottle open, looking around until she spotted the glasses he kept nearby. Pouring two drinks out, she handed one to him and then lifted her own in a toast. "Cheers," she said, clinking their glasses together before taking a long drink.

     Maxson took his own, savoring the burn as the liquid rushed down his throat. Wren took a seat in one of the chairs at his table, swirling her drink around as she glanced about the room. 

     "Not what I expected," she said. "It's warmer than I thought it would be."

     "Warmer?" he asked, not wanting to inquire as to why she'd been curious about what his room looked like in the first place. 

     "It feels lived in. I thought it'd feel empty." The Vault-Dweller shrugged, taking another sip of rum. "Still military through and through, though. Everything has a home."

     Maxson sat opposite her, leaning back in his chair. "You talk about the military as if it's familiar to you. Did you serve in the armed forces pre-War?" It would explain her capabilities in combat.

     "No, I wasn't. But Nate was. He was part of an infantry unit and served as their medic. He enlisted after graduating high school, and I met him one of the times he came home on leave. Really sweet guy and a gentleman. Not like the rest of the men my age at the time."

     "I never asked before, but if you don't mind, how old are you?"

     "Twenty-six. Well, closer to two hundred and twenty-six now, I guess, give or take. Nate was older than me by five years, though. Every time he came back, we'd spend as much time together as possible, because the situation with China was escalating, and I never knew if he'd come back." She stared down at her glass. "We were a mess, but I loved him."

     Maxson shifted in his seat. Thinking of her as married, with a hard-working man being there for her; it made him feel awkward. Like he did not belong there, sitting across from her and thinking about how pretty her hair looked in the sparse light. 

     "Can I tell you something? I...haven't told anyone this since I left the Vault, but I feel like you probably deserve to know." Wren fixed him with a plaintive expression, and Maxson noticed that the hand that held her drink was trembling.

     "You can tell me anything," he said softly.

     She looked uncomfortable before continuing. "Shaun isn't  _technically_ my son. But he is Nate's. On one of his deployments, he, well... It was a mistake, one he never forgave himself for, but he got some girl pregnant. She didn't want to keep him, and neither did Nate, at first. He thought I'd hate him, hate that poor baby, and maybe I should have, but I couldn't."

     Maxson's stomach tightened, a scowl on his lips. "Were you already married?"

     "Yeah, we were. We'd gotten married the week before he had to leave."

     "Why would you take someone back after that?"

     Wren shrugged. "I loved him. And I don't know if you've ever been in love before, but you tend to do some pretty stupid stuff for the person you choose to spend the rest of your life with. And I couldn't hate Shaun. It wasn't like he asked for it to happen, and even if he wasn't my own flesh and blood, he was Nate's, and I loved him just the same."

     "Your husband didn't deserve you," Maxson said, shaking his head. Truly it had to be several kinds of wrong to be so jealous and infuriated by a dead man, yet here he was, wanting to throttle Wren's husband for putting her through all of that.

     "Maybe not," she said quietly, "but he was all I had." Grey eyes were heavy when she lifted them to his own, tears welling up and threatening to come cascading down at any moment. "Sometimes I just wish things could go back. I never asked to be here."

     The woman out of time — who had bested mercenaries, crossed the Glowing Sea, and survived one of the more brutal Deathclaw attacks Maxson had ever seen — broke down into silent sobs, hunched over a glass of rum as tears tumbled down onto the wood of the table, each one a pearl born from a painful memory. He reached across the table, placing a hand over hers, not knowing what else to do. Comforting people had never been a strong suit of his.

     "Perhaps not," Maxson said, voice soft, "but, for what it's worth, I am happy you are."

     After a moment, Wren regained her composure, wiping her tears on her sleeve and giving him a small, sad smile. "Thank you, Arthur. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm thankful for everything you and the Brotherhood is doing to help me."

     He opened his mouth, but couldn't speak when she stood and circled the table, pressing the softest of kisses on his cheek, just beside his scar. His face was surely glowing brightly enough to light up the room.

     "I should try and get some sleep. Thank you for the drink. Good night, Arthur."

     She left the room, leaving the faintest smell of flowers in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are curious as to what Wren looks like, I found a pretty close match, so here's her official face claim:  
> http://margaretzhang.com.au/2014/07/hannah-waites/
> 
> Also I hope the fluff didn't seem too ooc. I'll admit, though, I'm a sucker for flustered Maxson. What a sweetheart.


	6. Incident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short one, but next chapter will be worth it!

     By the time morning came, the sun trying desperately to shine through the radioactive haze blanketing the atmosphere, Wren and Danse had already left the Prydwen and begun their trek to the CIT ruins. Despite the fact that the Paladin was accompanying her, Maxson could not help but feel the pang of worry in his gut. She may have proven to be more than capable in combat, but knowing she'd only recently been fitted with a new arm made him feel like his apprehension was at least somewhat justified.

     Thankfully being the leader of one of the largest factions in the known world meant that his days were filled with tasks that kept his mind off of Knight Hayworth. Today's diversion came in the shape of Proctor Ingram, just as wild-haired and abrasive as usual, updating Maxson on the progress of their latest project; the reconstruction of a weapon that most had assumed was destroyed during their battle with the Enclave.

     "We're still working as best we can on Liberty Prime, Elder, but lately it seems like every step we take forward ends up pushing us two steps back," Ingram said gruffly. "We need someone who knows Prime, who worked on him  _before_ he got busted into a pile of scrap. Let's hope Knight Hayworth knows what she's doing and gets us access to the Institute. As much as it pains me to say, I can't finish work on Prime without Doctor Li."

     "Perhaps, but even so, I expect construction efforts to continue," Maxson said, pausing in his pacing across the briefing room. "At the very least, we can ensure that Liberty Prime is in one piece by the time we convince Doctor Li to rejoin our efforts."

     "And if she refuses?"

     "She won't," Maxson answered flatly.

     Ingram looked amused. "I wish I had your faith, Elder," she sighed. "As far as reconstruction goes, though, progress is slow, but ongoing. I have a few teams out looking for high-powered magnets so we can start working on his actuators, but that's easier said than done. Too bad Knight Hayworth is chasing Coursers. She has a knack for finding valuable materials. You should see some of the stuff she brings in thinking it's just junk."

     The Elder felt his lips twitch into a smile; he could picture Wren scrambling through crumbling buildings, scouring ruins for pieces of scrap. "It certainly does seem like she's constantly making alterations to her weapons and armor," he said.

     "I'll say. She has more mods on her power armor than anyone I've ever seen, and I don't think I've even seen her use it."

     He shook his head; after losing an arm to a Deathclaw, he'd assume she'd have done anything she could to prepare herself to prevent such an incident from reoccurring, but Wren was stubborn, if not a bit impulsive, and he doubted she'd even considered wearing her armor on this mission.

     Just another reason for him to worry.

     "If I may, Proctor, what is your opinion of Knight Hayworth?" Maxson asked. 

     Ingram was obviously trying her best not to grin. "Why do you ask?" Her question was tinged with glee.

     Heat prickled up and down the back of his neck, but Maxson managed to keep his composure, voice calm as he spoke, even if his heart stuttered a bit. "I'm curious to see how she is fitting in among the ranks. I'm sure the uninspired analogy of the importance of maintaining a well-oiled machine isn't wasted on you."

     "Well, she hasn't caused any issues, if that's what you mean, Elder. She's all kinds of hard-headed, but she's resourceful, clever. I know she hasn't been with us for long, but I have confidence in her."

     He felt an odd surge of pride, coursing through him like fire. It put him off for a moment; he couldn't recall feeling the same way for any of the others under his command before. Yes, he was proud of them and their abundance of accomplishments, but this was different. 

     Pulling himself from his thoughts, Maxson gave Ingram a nod. "Thank you, Proctor. You're dismissed."

     Ingram gave him a salute before heading back to the armor bay. Words hung silent in the air, unspoken yet as loud as a gunshot. If anyone had walked by after the Elder was alone in the room again, maybe they would have heard them, whispered as if no one was around to listen.

      _I have confidence in her, too._  

* * *

 

     Lancer-Captain Kells had barely finished his daily report when Maxson noticed the Squire waiting by the stairway leading up from the bridge. She saluted hastily when she made eye contact with him, waiting for him to finish with Kells before speaking.

     "We've received a transmission from Paladin Danse, Elder. He wanted to inform you that despite facing opposition from a number of Gunners, he and Knight Hayworth were successful in their mission."

     Maxson let out a low breath, the weight that lifted from his shoulders allowing him to breathe properly for the first time since the night previous. "Thank you. Did he have an estimated time for their return?"

     "No, sir. The Paladin said that they need to take the chip to one of Knight Hayworth's contacts in the Commonwealth to have its contents decoded, and will need to take the data back to the scientist in the Glowing Sea."

     The weight came crashing back down, and if the Squire's anxious face was anything to go by, his own expression must have been a sight to behold. Forcing his stony features back into neutrality took more energy than he expected, though his shoulders remained as tense as ever.

     "Thank you, Squire. You are dismissed."

     The girl couldn't scramble up the stairs fast enough. Maxson excused himself from the bridge, pretending not to notice the way that the men avoided his gaze.

     The Glowing Sea. Without her power armor. 

     Once in the privacy of his quarters, Maxson leaned heavily against the wall. When Wren and Danse returned, he was going to strangle both of them. Danse for not insisting she wear her armor, and Wren herself for giving him this much to worry about. Returning to his normal poise, Maxson sent for a Scribe.

     "I need to send a response to Paladin Danse," he said, and the Scribe nodded fervently.

     "Of course, Elder. What shall I send?"

     "Remind the Paladin to remain vigilant and not to spend any longer in the Glowing Sea than absolutely necessary. We cannot afford a repeat of what happened the last time Knight Hayworth ventured there. And -" He paused.

     The Scribe looked up from the notes he was taking. "Yes, Elder?"

     "Tell Knight Hayworth to stay safe."

* * *

 

     There was no word from Danse or Wren for nearly two days, and in the meantime, even with the plethora of projects to divert his attention elsewhere, Maxson grew agitated, temperament tending to trend towards aggression. The entire crew of the Prydwen breathed a collective sigh of relief when at last word was sent to the Elder that the Paladin and Knight were returning from the Glowing Sea and due to arrive within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

     But, though his attitude improved significantly, Maxson was just as impatient as ever. Most of the Brotherhood chalked it up to his eagerness to locate the Institute as soon as possible, but when Proctor Ingram caught him shooting strangely sentimental looks at Wren's power armor, she knew better.

      Of course, she didn't mention it.

     Maxson spent even more time out on the flight deck than usual, staring out at the expanse of hazy sky, hands behind him as always. Time trickled by slower than it ever had in his life, boot tapping against the metal floor listlessly, but it was reaching the end of the forty-eight hours Danse had guessed it would take them to return. The sun dipped below the horizon, the chill of night descending on the Commonwealth, and just as Maxson was about to head back to the warmth of the Prydwen, the unmistakable sound of a Vertibird approaching rose in the distance. 

     When the airship docked, Danse stepped off, followed by Wren, in all her silver-haired glory. This time, though, she was covered in significantly less blood. Wren lifted a hand in greeting, a bundle of papers tucked up under her cybernetic arm. 

     "Good evening, Elder Maxson," she chirped. "Did you miss me?"

     


	7. Inside

     Despite Wren's cheerful greeting, it was obvious that she and Paladin Danse were exhausted. And rightfully so, considering how far they had come. Even though there was nothing more Maxson wanted than to delve into what they'd learned, he still sent them along to get some rest. He had waited this long; whatever they had found, it could wait until morning.

     So when the morning came and the rising sun bathed the scarred ground in hazy twilight, Maxson made his way to the briefing room to wait for Wren and Danse. Thankfully he didn't have to wait long, seeing as Danse was an earlier riser than even he was, and Wren clearly was just as eager to plunge into what she'd discovered. She sauntered into the room, dressed in a pair of halfway decent jeans and a camo top, tousled hair pulled up into a sloppy bun, and Danse followed behind her, clad in his usual uniform. Both saluted in greeting, and Maxson returned the gesture.

     "I take it this time your foray into the Glowing Sea fared better than last," he said, the faintest of smiles on his face. Wren wiggled the fingers on her left hand at him and grinned.

     "Still have one good arm left, so yeah, I'd say it did," she joked. "But even better, I got all of this." She held up the papers she'd brought back the night prior and handed them over triumphantly. "The good Doctor Virgil wasn't an expert on how the Institute managed to zap their people in and out at will, but he knew enough to sketch us out the plans to build a device that can get me in."

     Maxson shuffled through the papers, covered in frenzied writing and sketches of various pieces of tech, eyes widened in awe. "Well, I'm sure Proctor Ingram will have a field day with this," he said, staring at a particular spot in the margins that had a set of complicated looking equations scratched in. "If anyone can understand all of this, it's her."

     Wren nodded, taking back the plans when he had finished looking them over. "The way Virgil explained it, the Institute uses something called a molecular relay to send Coursers and synths in and out. This thing hacks the signal and zaps me in instead of whoever was the intended target."

     Maxson looked thoughtful. "Paladin? You've been awfully quiet. What is your opinion on all of this?"

     "It sounds risky, especially considering it's technology that we haven't used before," Danse said, "but it's our best, if not our only, option. Especially considering our other project has hit a dead end."

     "Project?" Wren asked, looking between the two of them. "What do you mean?"

     "Paladin Danse is referring to the ongoing repairs to Liberty Prime."

     Grey eyes flew open in surprise. "Liberty Prime?  _The_ Liberty Prime? I didn't know he was still a thing. Thought the government pulled the plug on him after they couldn't get him up and running for the battle in Anchorage."

     "Well, unlike the government whose actions, or lack thereof, resulted in the decimation of the planet, the Brotherhood of Steel was able to employ him in the war on the Enclave in the Capital Wasteland." Maxson couldn't help the surge of pride at Wren's stunned look. "Unfortunately, he was heavily damaged in the battle, and although Proctor Ingram has been working tirelessly on completing reconstruction, there have been a few...delays."

      "So even the Brotherhood admits to needing help every now and then." Wren crossed her arms, smirking.

     "Rarely, but, yes. We require the services of Doctor Madison Li. She worked on Prime before, is familiar with how he works. Unfortunately, she was recruited by the Institute."

     Wren lifted a hand. "Say no more, Elder. I'll just add tracking down a former Brotherhood scientist to my list of things to do once I get into the Institute. After finding Shaun and punching whoever ordered him taken square in the face."

     Danse barely held back a snort, and Maxson scratched at his chin. "Yes, Knight, after you do that."

* * *

 

     Proctor Ingram looked like a child on her birthday when Wren handed over Virgil's plans. She scrutinized the sketches with single-minded focus, looking up at regular intervals to remark on how impressive the whole thing was.

     "Though, some of these notes are a bit difficult to read. Who wrote this? Some strung-out Raider?"

     Wren and Danse looked uncomfortable. "Something like that."

     "Well, whoever did, they know their stuff. So many questions answered. Like how the Institute moves their people around without detection. This thing is going to take some doing to build, but we can do it." She tapped the papers back into a neat stack. "I'll get some people together to go scouting for materials. Shouldn't take too long, but some of this stuff will be in pretty dicey locations. I'd guess it'll be four, five days tops?"

     "Excellent, Proctor," Maxson said. "That will give us plenty of time to discuss our next move."

     "Er, about that," Wren said, hands on her hips. "I think I'm going to take the next few days to regroup. I don't have any reason to doubt Virgil or his plans, but I want to check in with a few people before I get my ass zapped with whatever the thing is. Just in case."

     "That's a negative, Knight Hayworth. There are considerations to be made, plans to discuss."

     "What is there to discuss, Elder?" Wren snapped. "I go in, I track down Doctor Li, I may or may not beat someone into a bloody pulp, I grab my son, I haul ass out of there."

     As much as he wanted to argue, Maxson knew she was right. No one knew what lay in wait once she was relayed into the Institute. And there was no harm in her taking a bit of time to herself; he knew she had more than earned it.

     "Very well, Knight. Word will be sent when the interceptor is ready."

     "You could come with me, you know." 

     Maxson stared. "What was that?"

     "Come with me? I'm just going to Diamond City to meet up with a friend or two. C'mon, it wouldn't kill you to get out for a bit."

     His brows furrowed together. "I don't think we could afford to -"

     "Oh, go on, Elder," Ingram said with a wave of her hand. "Anything happens, we'll send a bird for you."

     When he muttered that yes, dammit, he would go, Wren glowed.

* * *

 

     Maxson had to admit, it was nice to be out in the fresh air. A Vertibird had been dispatched, carrying them to the Cambridge Police station, and they would make their way to Diamond City from there on foot. Flying directly in to the settlement would have been a decidedly bad decision, and Wren had wanted to ensure that their presence was under the radar. For his own safety, she said. He was inclined to agree, but knowing that she worried, if only slightly, about him made Maxson feel that same prickle of warmth in his gut.

     "As much as I like it, you can't really go parading around in that coat of yours. It's too recognizable." Wren was digging through her locker at the police station. It was crammed full of random boxes of ammunition, a few pieces of scrap, a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, and more than a few articles of clothing. Including a set of military fatigues that she held up to his shoulder, confirming they were the proper size. "Here. I've got some combat armor in that trunk over there. Feel free to help yourself to it."

     She ducked out of the room to allow him to change, and once he had, she hustled back in, locking his precious coat inside her locker. Turning, she gave him an amused look as he tried to strap on the armored chest piece. 

     "Here, let me help you." Wren slipped the straps into the buckles and fastened the combat armor into place.

     "Thank you," he muttered, trying to ignore the heaviness that settled almost, but not quite, unpleasantly in his stomach.

     Wren winked. "Let's go."

     The roads to Diamond City were blessedly quiet, though the occasional sound of a gunfight did echo around them from time to time. Wren did stomp on a radroach that had crept out of one of the nearby alleyways, but apart from that, they met no enemies on their trek. 

     Maxson had never seen the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth before, but the settlement did little to impress him. The walls, of course, made it easily defended, but with its battered houses and borderline crude residents, it was no better than a wasteland farmhouse. Wren greeted a young girl who was selling newspapers as they walked by, but was otherwise silent. No one looked her way, and, if she had known anyone, she made no effort to speak to them. She did, however, perk up at the sight of a neon sign glowing an almost gaudy shade of pink.  _Valentine Detective Agency,_ it read, the image of a heart pierced by an arrow sitting beside the title.

     Wren rounded on him once they'd passed into a small entryway, sticking one finger at him in an accusatory stance. "Listen, we aren't on the Prydwen now, Arthur, and Nicky is a good friend of mine. So keep your opinions to yourself, understood?"

     "You  _invited_ me here, remember?" Maxson retorted, but when she narrowed her eyes at him, he flared his nostrils. "Oh, all right, understood."

     "Good." Wren nodded curtly. "Nick Valentine is a good man, and he has never tried to hide who, or what, he is. Something you should think about when you're spouting your anti-synth rhetoric."

     Before Maxson could say anything else, Wren opened the wooden door and walked in. "Nick? You home?"

     "Well, I'll be damned." Maxson tensed at the voice; deep, husky, but tinged with something mechanical. His suspicions were confirmed when the synth that called itself Valentine looked up from its desk, yellow eyes widening at the sight of them. "Wren Hayworth. Good to see you're still in one piece."

     "Mostly one piece," she said ruefully, gesturing to her prosthetic arm.

     "Yeah, Hancock told me. I'm sorry, Wren, I really am."

     "Oh, don't be, Nicky. I've got this great new arm, thanks to my friend here."

     The synth fixed Maxson with glowing yellow eyes, and he could see the metal skeleton move as its mouth turned downward. "You must be Brotherhood, then. I can't imagine you're too happy to see me, but any friend of Wren's is welcome. The name's Nick Valentine, though I doubt you'll use it."

     "An astute observation, synth," Maxson growled. Wren shot him a dirty look, one that he gladly returned. Why on earth would she have thought bringing him here was a good idea?

     "Come off it, Arthur," she grumbled. "Sorry, Nick. I just wanted to check in, let you know I was doing okay. Let Hancock know I said hello, all right? I'd go myself, but I don't think that the Elder here would appreciate me dragging him into Goodneighbor."

     "Probably not," the synth chortled. "You going to be in town for long?"

     "A few days, maybe. The Brotherhood is helping me build a - "

     Maxson cleared his throat, glaring at her, but Wren ignored him.

     " - way into the Institute." 

     The synth took in a sharp breath, or at least what passed as one. "You found a way in? You watch yourself, Wren. Who knows what's waiting in there for you."

     Maxson wanted nothing more than to remind the synth where exactly it had come from, that it was no better than whatever machines the Institute churned out daily, even if it did walk around playing at being a detective. But he bit his tongue, hands clenched into fists tight enough that his nails dug painfully into his palms. 

     "Hopefully Shaun will be," Wren said quietly. "I'll see you around, Nick."

     The synth held the door for them as they made their way back out into the alleyway. "You'd do best to keep her safe," it hissed as Maxson passed by. "If anything happens to her, there'll be hell to pay."

     "I don't take orders from you,  _synth,"_ he spat, "and your threats don't scare me."

     It grumbled something in return that sounded suspiciously like  _ass_ under its breath as he walked out of earshot, but Maxson was too agitated to care. Once the door was closed, it was his turn to round on Wren, who was fiddling with her Pip Boy.

     "What the hell was that?" he demanded. "You do realize that our mission is to destroy the synth menace, not refer to them as our friends."

     "Nick isn't a menace," Wren said defensively. "Everything he does is to help people. Without him, I never would have tracked down the mercenary that took Shaun. Besides, he hates the Institute as much as anyone in the Commonwealth, if not more. He may not be technically human, but that doesn't change the fact that he's a good person. He didn't  _ask_ to be made any more than you or I asked to be born."

     "You forget who you're speaking with,  _Knight."_

     "I'm not going to debate this with you,  _Elder,"_ she said coolly. "I'm going to go and rent some rooms at the Dugout Inn. If you want to join me, that's great. If not, then by all means, signal for a bird to come and pick you up."

     Begrudgingly, Maxson followed her to the dingy inn, where she spoke with the bartender as if he were an old friend. After passing over a number of caps, Wren handed him the key to his room.

     "Good night, Elder Maxson."

* * *

 

     The following morning came, and when Maxson left his room, Wren was already sitting at the bar, sipping on a container of water and chatting with the bartender again. She gave him a tight-lipped smile that reminded him of where they'd left their argument the previous night, and he felt a pang of guilt. Sitting next to her, he sucked in a breath.

     "I am sorry for my behavior last night. While I do  _not_ approve of those you call your friends, you are able to fraternize with whoever you want."

     Wren looked flabbergasted before breaking out into a real smile. "There's a heart under all that facial hair after all," she teased, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. "In all seriousness, though, I'm sorry, too, Arthur. It was selfish of me to bring you along, knowing it would only upset you. I just... I like spending time with you, is all, and I get sick of being cooped up in that tub."

     Maxson flushed. "I like spending time with you, too," he muttered.

     Before she could respond, Wren's Pip Boy chimed, and she turned to it, twisting one of the knobs until the radio came on, playing a message through one of the previously vacant frequencies. Maxson immediately recognized the voice as Ingram's.

      _Attention: Elder Arthur Maxson and Knight Wren Hayworth. Requesting return to Prydwen whenever possible. Construction of Signal Interceptor complete. Repeat, requesting return to Prydwen as soon as possible. Repeating._

"Well, looks like you'll be signalling for that bird after all," Wren said, strapping the Pip Boy back to her wrist. "Shall we?"

* * *

 

     By the time they had made it back to the Prydwen, it was nearly eleven o'clock, darkness hanging heavily when the Vertibird docked. Both Wren and Maxson agreed it was best she get a bit of rest before they caught up with Proctor Ingram in the airport. As if either of them would be able to sleep at all anyways. 

     Maxson spent most of the night staring up at the ceiling in his quarters, playing every possible scenario through in his head. Of course, the best case was Wren being relayed successfully into the Institute, and making it back out safely, but there were countless other outcomes, too. The device could fail completely. It could send Wren somewhere else. Or, of course, it could turn her into paste. The majority of the time, he could justify such risks as necessary, but when he pictured Wren standing there, only to be disintegrated into a smoking pile of ash, his stomach contorted into knots. 

     No, he thought fiercely, she would be all right. It would work. He was never one to believe in luck, but surely a little wouldn't hurt her. He rummaged around in his footlocker until he found what he was looking for, wrapping it up in some paper and taping it closed with duct tape. It looked sloppy, but he didn't have much time. 

     After getting dressed, Maxson waited down on the tarmac with Proctor Ingram for Wren to arrive. The device was larger and more intricate than he had gathered from the drawings; a large platform with a larger bit of equipment above it, spinning and spitting out bluish sparks. A satellite dish stood nearby, and in the center of it all, Ingram was tapping away at some sort of console, talking to herself as she worked. 

     Wren arrived not long after, escorted by one of the Scribes, dressed in her Vault suit and minimal armor, likely to avoid arousing suspicion while she was inside. She looked both nervous and exhausted, bags under her eyes and strands of hair dangling in her face, but upon seeing Maxson and Ingram, she put on her usual cocky facade as she approached.

     "Lovely morning to get teleported, isn't it?" she quipped, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Couldn't think of a better start to the day."

     "I could," Ingram said, still tapping away at the console. "Let's get this over. I'm about locked onto a signal, so whenever you're ready, hop on up to the platform."

     Wren stood beside Maxson, close enough that he could hear her breathing. Short, shallow, anxious. Without even meaning to, he touched her hand, and she gave him a soft, sad smile.

     "Oh, and thank you for the gift," she said. 

     "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he said curtly.

     "Don't even. Who else would give me a combat knife? Much less one with a date carved into the handle." Wren flashed a knowing smile. "A date from when you were thirteen." He felt his face grow hot. "Don't worry, Arthur, I won't tell anyone you gave me the knife you used to kill that Deathclaw with. I'll keep it nice and safe in my boot." She tapped the corresponding foot and laughed. "Who knows? I might need it where I'm going."

     The air turned heavy with anticipation once again. Wren took a deep breath and stepped up onto the platform. Over the crackling sound of electricity, which grew to a deafening volume, Ingram began a countdown. 

     "Five! Four!"

     "Knight Hayworth!" Maxson shouted, and Wren gave him a confused look.

    "Three! Two!"

    "Please, come back safe."

     Wren opened her mouth to answer.

     "Relaying you now!"

     There was a crack, a burst of light, and the reek of scorched metal, and Wren was gone.


	8. Institute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating! Life gets a bit crazy when you throw kids into the equation. Thanks for being so patient and for the comments!
> 
> Lots of drunken confessions (and fluff, too, I guess, if you squint hard enough) ahead!

     Three seemingly endless days and sleepless nights later and there was still no word from Knight Hayworth. Scribes waited by the radio round the clock in case she tried to contact them. Paladin Danse often joined them, sitting in uneasy silence, staring at the radio with an expression halfway between wanting to vomit or destroy the nearest piece of furniture. 

     Danse was bad enough, but Maxson was even worse, having taken to keeping himself locked up in his study under the guise of laboring over paperwork, but in actuality was isolating himself to shelter the rest of the Prydwen from his waspish attitude. Today was no different, glacial eyes staring at the file in his hands without really seeing it. The uncomfortable feeling of worry was gnawing at him deep in his gut. Three days without hearing anything, and there wasn't anything they could do. Feeling so helpless, so  _useless,_ only contributed to his irascible disposition. 

     Groaning, he cast the papers aside, digging the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, colours blooming out of the pressure. Maybe this was what it felt like to go insane. Forever on edge, just waiting to tumble over the precipice into the darkness below. Maxson didn't know how much more he could take.

      A soft knock sounded on his door, dredging him out of his agitated thoughts, and he pulled the door open, Danse standing on the other side, looking completely and utterly exhausted. 

      "I'm sorry to bother you, Arthur, but do you mind if I come in?" he asked, voice harsh from lack of sleep.

     Maxson ushered him in, shutting the door tight behind them. "I assume you still haven't heard anything?"

     Danse shook his head. "No, we haven't. I know it's difficult, but we have to trust in her abilities."

     "Difficult is a fucking understatement."

     The Paladin raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything; Maxson tended to save up his curse words for special occasions. And, well, when was a better time than now? 

     "Be that as it may, I can't just sit by that radio anymore. It's pointless."

     "And what do you suggest we do in the meantime, Paladin?" Maxson snapped.

      Danse stepped past him and picked up two bottles of liquor that stood next to his terminal.

     "Getting intoxicated to the point that we can't remember anything seems like the most viable option."

     "That's the best idea I've heard all day." Maxson took one of the bottles and, after cracking it open, tipped several mouthfuls down his throat. Judging by the immediate burn, he guessed that it was likely vodka. Danse followed suit, only slightly choking on his own drink. 

      It didn't take long before Maxson was a good two-thirds through his bottle and Danse nearly halfway through his own, both slumped over the table, Danse scratching patterns into the wood with his thumbnail, Maxson grumbling incoherently into the sleeve of his flight suit, coat long since tossed in some random direction. It had been a very, very long time since he had allowed himself to get this drunk, and somewhere in the liquor-soaked part of his brain, he wondered why. It felt nice. Everything felt blurred. But...there was something still sharp in his belly. He didn't like it. What was it?

     Fear.

     "This isn't  _working,"_ he groaned.

     Danse looked up from the series of zig-zags he'd scored into the table. "What isn't?" he asked.

     "I'm still thinking about Wren."

     Wren, somewhere buried deep within the earth. Something terrible could have happened and he'd never know. Never see her again. Hell, something horrible could be happening to her right then and there. He squirmed in his seat, squeezing the bottle in his hand hard enough that the glass squeaked, threatening to shatter.

     Danse gave a knowing nod. 

     "I worry about her, too, Arthur, but we can't do anything but wait."

     "Fuck waiting."

     "Fuck waiting," the Paladin agreed, lifting his bottle of whiskey and taking a measured swig.

     Maxson continued fidgeting, his mind a mess of emotions and vodka and words, a dangerous and volatile mix. He fixed the other man with a calculating look, remaining that way for several long moments (or else not so long; in this state he'd never know).

     "What, Arthur?" Danse asked.

     "Nothing, I just..." No, no, he shouldn't say. But the words burned in his throat, even more scalding than the liquor, and they fought their way out amidst a strangled sound. "I need her to come back. I...I  _care_ about Wren, Danse, and it's driving me  _mad."_ Maxson paused, tapping his fingers against the table, agitated. "Is that normal?"

     His companion gave him a sage nod. "I suspected as much."

     "What the fuck does that mean?"

     "You  _obviously_ have feelings for each other. Whatever is going on in your head, Arthur, it isn't one-sided. Wren talks about you to the point that it gets almost...well, it can get to be a bit much."

     "She was married," Maxson said dumbly. 

     "What does that have to do with anything?" The bemused look on Danse's face only irritated him further.

     "I... I don't really know," he admitted. "I just...I don't want her to compare me to him or him to me."

     "Nate is dead. It isn't a competition, Arthur."

     "I know, but -"

     "If it makes you feel better, Wren told me something not long after we met, and she made me promise not to tell anyone, but -"

     Maxson slammed a fist on the table, glass bottles rattling, Danse only barely saving his whiskey from falling to the floor.

     "If she told you a secret, don't betray her trust, you ass!" he roared, and Danse laughed, a drunken, sputtering sound that took Maxson off guard. "What the fuck are you laughing at?"

      "Damn, if people thought you were scary before, you're even worse when you're in love!"

     The Elder made a mental note not to drink with the Paladin again. Fortunately for Danse, he wouldn't remember come morning.

* * *

 

     Unsurprisingly, when morning came too soon for comfort, Maxson woke up and felt like his head had been hit multiple times by a super-sledge. After seeing Knight-Captain Cade for some painkillers, he made his usual rounds before checking in with the Scribes still waiting diligently by the radio. No messages from Knight Hayworth. Disappointing, but unsurprising. 

     Maxson settled himself in the briefing room, pacing as he usually did, glaring out over the Commonwealth. If, by this time tomorrow, they still hadn't heard anything from Wren, he decided that he would claw his way into the Institute with his bare hands if needed. He'd rip apart anything that tried to stop him with his bare hands. And if any harm had befallen her, he'd make them pay tenfold. Just thinking about Wren in any kind of distress made his skin feel hot, his fingers twitch on an invisible trigger.

     If she was hurt, or worse, he would lay waste to the entire Commonwealth.

     So lost in his furious musings, Maxson didn't hear Danse enter the room, jumping when the Paladin cleared his throat.

    "What?" he snapped, whipping around to face him. The man threw up his hands defensively.

    "I'm sorry, I should have let you know when I was coming in."

     "No, I shouldn't have reacted like I did." The Elder passed a hand over his face. Wren had laughed at his title, saying he was too young for such a label, but right now he felt every part of it. 

     "It's fine, Arthur. We're all anxious for Knight Hayworth's return." He flashed a knowing smile. "Maybe not as much as you, however."

     He felt his face flush. "I don't know what you're talking about."

     "I'm being serious, though. You should tell her how you feel when she returns. Like I said last night, it isn't unrequited."

     Maxson's tongue felt too heavy in his mouth, but thankfully, there was a commotion outside of the briefing room that distracted them from their rather awkward conversation.

     "What's going on?" Danse asked one of the soldiers hustling by.

     "There's a transmission coming in, sir! It's garbled, but they think it's Knight Hayworth!"

     Maxson felt the colour drain from his face, shoving through the throng of people congregating outside of the room where the Scribes sat at the radio. Sure enough, amidst blurbs of static and half-audible words from other stations came Wren's unmistakable voice.

      _This is Knight Wren Hayworth. Returning to airport at 19:00. Repeating._

He froze, body too heavy to move. "What time is it now?" he croaked out.

     "It's currently 17:30, Elder Maxson," one of the Scribes responded.

      She was alive. And she was coming back in less than two hours. He would have collapsed if Danse hadn't been behind him, offering support.

     "We can go down to the airport, Elder, and wait for her there."

     He could only nod.

     The next hour crawled by slower than the last three days, every minute stretching on like an eternity in and of itself. Not wanting to overwhelm Wren when she returned, only Maxson and Paladin Danse waited down on the ground for her. Knight-Captain Cade was on standby; her current condition was unknown, after all. Her transmission hadn't sounded distressed, but there was no telling what she had experienced on the inside. 

     The twisted remains of the signal interceptor stood before them, still giving off the reek of scorched metal and melted rubber. Maxson only hoped that wherever she relayed back, it would be close to here. But there was no knowing for certain.

     Thankfully, he didn't have to wonder for long; there was a loud crackling sound to their right, and with a pop and burst of white-blue light, Wren appeared, the air around her tinged with electricity and smelling faintly of ozone.

     Her steely eyes were hazy when they met his gaze.

     "I'm back," was all she said before stumbling forward, slumping into Maxson's arms.

* * *

     It was nearly an hour before she stirred, Maxson, of course, sitting beside her. 

     "Where am I?" she mumbled.

     "The medical bay on board the Prydwen."

     "We have to stop meeting like this." 

     Despite himself, Maxson smiled down at her. Wren shifted in the bedclothes.

     "What happened?" Perhaps he should wait to ask questions, but he couldn't help it. "Why did it take you so long to contact us? Are you all right? Did you find Shaun?"

     Wren made a pained sound and Maxson immediately regretted asking, taking her right hand in his own without so much as a second thought. 

     "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked until you were feeling better."

     She squeezed his hand lightly. "No, it's okay, I just..." She was trembling when her eyes met his, tears threatening to spill all over her cheeks. Which he realized now were far too pale. "I found Shaun. But... but he's not  _my_ Shaun. Not anymore."

     Maxson's brows furrowed, but he didn't push for an answer.

     " _Fuck_ Vault-Tec, those goddamn cryopods fucked everything up," she said bitterly. "Arthur, they didn't take Shaun ten years ago. It was...it was  _sixty._ Shaun is  _sixty."_

     He almost didn't believe it. After all, up until now, everyone had presumed that the child was only ten years old. Not a man well past that walk of life.

     "And that...that isn't even the hardest part to believe." Wren was outright shaking now, and Maxson reached out, pressing his palm to her cheek, hoping that might help, if even just a little bit. "He's  _leading_ them, Arthur. They call him Father. He's the head of the Institute."

     "What?" Surely that couldn't be true.

     "He said they needed clean, non-corrupted DNA for their experiments, and chose him. When I asked him about Nate, about what happened, he told me that it was an unfortunate accident. That Nate was collateral damage." Rage burned in her eyes, and an agony Maxson had never seen before. "Shaun referred to his own father's death as collateral damage. His fucking  _father!"_

     Wren clawed at her face, sobbing with a force that frightened him. Maxson grabbed her, crushed her against his chest. She clung to him as if he would otherwise disappear, screaming her anguish into the material of his flight suit. After a time, she calmed down, breathing evening out as she scrubbed at the tear tracks on her cheeks with her sleeve. Maxson wiped one tear off of the tip of her nose with his thumb.

     "Thank you," she said softly, but he only shook his head.

     "You don't need to thank me. You...you've been through more than I could ever have imagined. I'm sorry."

     "No, don't apologize."

     "Why? I am sorry. Sorry that this happened to you, that you had to face all of that alone."

     She chewed her lip before standing on her toes again, pressing a fleeting, tear-stained kiss to his cheek, which immediately prickled with warmth. 

     "I know. I...I should get some sleep. I'm exhausted."

     "I don't doubt it," he said with a rueful smile. "Get some rest. We'll speak more tomorrow."

     Wren nodded and walked out of the door, pausing one last time before she left.

     "One more thing, Elder. I did manage to find Dr. Li. She'll be returning to the Brotherhood of Steel just as soon as she is able."


	9. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains smut, so please proceed with caution.  
> As always, thanks for joining me on this roller coaster ride. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

     Maxson wondered if Wren had slept as poorly as he had. So many thoughts were buzzing around his skull like a swarm of angry stingwings; he couldn't imagine what she would be thinking. Up until now, the Institute had been a faceless evil, lurking just on the edge of their vision, but now? Now that they knew where they were, how to get in? Everything was different. 

     All because of the Vault-Dweller who wanted nothing more than to save her son.

     Even that had changed, however. The child she had faced an entire Wasteland for was now a man, and that man had grown to become the very image of that evil. And, having been raised in evil, not only accepted it but embraced it. Either unable or unwilling to see the harm that it caused. Even  _if_ they truly did have mankind's best intentions at heart, their methods remained questionable at best. 

     Maxson didn't envy the decisions Wren had to make. After all, now it was Shaun — or Father, as he was now called — that was the face of that hornet's nest, and it was the boy she had wanted to raise as her own son that was the enemy. He had thought that when Wren had returned from the Institute, he wouldn't have to worry anymore, having her back where it was safe. How wrong he had been. If anything, he was even more concerned for her now. 

     She and Danse met Maxson in the briefing room in the early afternoon, both looking as if they hadn't slept in weeks. Wren's hair was even more frazzled than usual, exhaustion smearing grey under her eyes like war paint. The Paladin didn't fare much better, his usually pristine uniform looking as if he had just picked it up off of a pile on the floor. Given the circumstances, however, Maxson couldn't care less. 

     "Before we proceed, Knight Hayworth, are you...are you all right?" he asked, and Wren stiffened at the question.

     "Yes, I'm fine, Elder." The reply came too quick to be true, and the empty look on her face all but confirmed that, no, she was not fine. Not really. And how could she be?

     Maxson pursed his lips but didn't push the matter. It was a discussion for a later time. "Last night you mentioned that you were able to locate Doctor Li?"

     "I did. It wasn't difficult. She was head of the Advanced Systems division." Wren answered almost mechanically, her eyes focused on something over Maxson's shoulder. "It didn't take much to convince her to come back. She was growing skeptical of the Institute and their lack of transparency. As soon as she is able to do so without rousing suspicion, she will be meeting with you, Elder Maxson, to discuss her return to the Brotherhood."

     He nodded tersely. "That is excellent news," he said, voice stiff. "With her assistance, we can complete work on Liberty Prime and proceed with the assault on the Institute as planned."

     Wren had no reaction whatsoever. 

     "Paladin Danse, do you have any input?" Danse flinched, not having expected to be questioned.

     "No, Elder, I have nothing to add."

     "Very well. You are both dismissed."

      Wren's voice was hollow when she cut in. "Actually, Elder Maxson, I want to inform you that I'll be leaving the airport for a few days. I have some...I have some stuff to see to."

      Maxson frowned. "And what exactly would that be?"

     "It doesn't matter."

     "I think it does. As a member of the Brotherhood of -"

     "The Brotherhood aren't the only people that need me, Arthur!" Wren's voice echoed around the room, and Maxson froze, too stunned to speak. He knew she was right; she had assisted the Minutemen in the past, and there were no doubt people on the outside who were awaiting news of her return. 

      "Then go," Maxson said coldly. Wren shot him one last unhappy look before hurrying out of the room.

     "Just as tactless as ever," Paladin Danse sighed.

     "And what exactly do you mean by that, Paladin?" he seethed. 

     "She's  _hurting,_ Arthur. It wouldn't kill you to express some concern every now and then."

     After a moment, he let out a long sigh, covering his face with his hands. "I suppose I could be handling the situation better," he said heavily. "I really am worried about her, I just don't..." 

     "You don't know how to tell her that without making her feel weak," Danse concluded for him. "Stop beating yourself up, Arthur. Just go and talk to her. Though I suggest you hurry if you plan on speaking to her before she leaves. She's a fast packer."

     Maxson looked uncomfortable for a moment before grumbling his agreement, hurrying out of the room to track Wren down. Luckily for him, her hurried departure from the briefing room had left a trail of confused faces in her wake. Several soldiers asked if she was all right, that she had been talking to herself as she passed them by. 

     Eventually he found her in the armor bay, pounding furiously at a spot on the left leg of her power armor. Evidently she had been at it for a while, given the gleam of sweat on her brow. The bay was blessedly empty at the moment, likely a result of her vehement attitude, so no one was around to softness in his voice as he approached her.

     "Wren? Are...are you too busy to talk?" 

     She stopped hammering at her armor and wiped the sweat from her face before standing up to face him.

     "No. I was just working on some new modifications, Elder."

     Hearing her call him that in this setting stung. He wasn't sure if that had been her intention or not, but it hurt nonetheless.

     "I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I have no doubts in your intentions, your request just caught me off guard."

     She shrugged. "Don't worry about it," she said coolly.

     "But I  _do_ worry. About you. About the situations you've already had to confront, and the ones that lie ahead. I won't pretend to understand what you're going through, because I cannot fathom what you've faced, but I can tell that you're struggling, and I can't sit by and watch."

     Wren looked surprised for a brief moment before her face settled back into vacancy. "Doesn't seem like you to spend so much time fretting over a subordinate."

     "A subordinate?" He felt his chest tighten. "Is that what you think you are?"

     There was no answer, though it was clear Wren was desperately avoiding his gaze at this point. She looked small, nervous; a cornered animal frantically looking for escape. Finally she met his eye and made a defeated sound.

     "Why can't I hate him?" she croaked. "Why can't I hate Shaun? I know I should. What he's doing, what he's already done, it's all wrong. I know I should hate him, but I can't!"

     "He was, and still is, your son. Not by birth, perhaps, but you loved him. You still do. How could a mother hate her child?" Maxson said softly. "And not just that, he's all you have left of your husband, and all you have left of that life you lived before."

     Wren hiccuped quietly, scuffing at the floor with the toe of her boot. "Is it wrong that I want to save him?" she whispered. "Even though, deep down, I know I can't?"

     He shook his head. "I'd be concerned if you didn't feel that way." Slowly, he stepped forward until he was close enough to see the faint dusting of freckles on her nose. "You carry all of this weight on your shoulders. You don't have to carry it alone. I want to help."

     "You can help me by tearing that place apart until there's nothing left." Anger turned her voice dark, and her eyes were ablaze with righteous fury. Wren caught up his hands in her own, holding them tight against her chest. "Make them pay, Arthur."

      In that moment, she could have asked anything of him, even his own heart carved out for her, and gladly he would have accepted.

     "I swear it," he rasped. "I'll wipe the Commonwealth clean of them."

     Wren continued to stare at him with that burning gaze until he thought he would burst into flames. If he had expected anything, it certainly wasn't what happened next. Lips that tasted like sweat and tears and something else, something darker, crushed against his own in an embrace that he gladly accepted. She stood on her tiptoes, fingers pressed against his scalp, and Maxson leaned closer, his own hands planted firmly on her waist. Wren gasped softly when she pulled away, tongue darting out against her reddened lips as she cupped his face in her hands.

     "I -" He started to speak, but she shushed him softly.

     "Meet me in your room in an hour," she breathed, and Maxson could only nod in agreement. Pressing another fleeting kiss against the corner of his lips, she turned and hurried out of the bay.

     Taking a moment to collect himself, Maxson departed as well, all but ignoring everyone he passed as he made his way to his quarters. He tried to busy himself with tidying up the room, clearing away the empty liquor bottles and papers strewn across every surface. An hour. He was reasonably certain what she was meeting him here for, which only served to vex him further. 

     Being head of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel had taken up much of his life, and he had thrown himself so completely into his role that it left little time for anything else. Relationships were not a priority, so he'd never taken the time to pursue one. As the last surviving member of the Maxson bloodline, he knew that at some point he'd be expected to have children, but even that had always seemed so far off. Now, as he paced back and forth in his room, waiting for a woman, his lack of experience sat heavy on his shoulders.

     He was thirteen when he killed that Deathclaw. Why was the thought of being alone with a woman who barely came up to the level of his collar so intimidating?

     Someone knocked on his door, and it was so soft that he almost thought that he'd imagined it. Maxson opened the door a fraction and peered out into the dim light beyond. Wren was, of course, the source of the knocking, lifting her good arm in greeting. 

     "May I come in?" Even she sounded a bit nervous.

     "Of course." He hoped his voice wasn't as tremulous as his hand was, pulling the door open the rest of the way to allow her entry.

     Wren stepped into the light and he almost didn't recognize her. She had bathed, pale skin still rosy where she'd scrubbed it. Her hair fell in loose white waves down to her shoulders and the slightest scent of soap wafted off of it. He made sure the door was secured behind them before turning to see her sitting down at the table, settling down opposite her. 

     "Would you like a drink?" he asked, knowing that he would certainly need some liquid courage himself if the path they were going down would end where he suspected it would. To his relief she nodded, and he busied himself pouring two glasses of whiskey.

     "Your hands are shaking," Wren remarked upon taking her drink. 

     "Really? I hadn't noticed," Maxson lied, swallowing a mouthful of alcohol. 

     "You should relax, Arthur. I'm not going to bite." She smirked at him from over the rim of her glass. "Unless you want me to, that is."

     He choked on his next drink, and she chuckled darkly.

     "I take that as a yes." Wren drained her glass and set it aside, standing up with a sigh. He watched her warily as she circled the table, sitting against the edge and staring down at him with an unreadable expression. "I want to apologize for earlier, Arthur. I...I wasn't really myself. Everything has been piling up on me, and I guess I just snapped. It wasn't fair of me to act like that."

      "Oh, god, no, don't apologize. You had every reason to -"

     Wren placed a slender finger on his lips, the cool metal of her cybernetic arm enough of a shock to make his breath hitch. "No. I didn't. You've been nothing but good to me." A pained look flickered across her face for a moment before vanishing. "I want to thank you." Her hand slid to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over his scar. He found himself leaning into the touch, eyes growing heavy. They remained like that for a moment before Wren settled herself down in his lap, her thighs on either side of his own. 

     "You don't need to do this," Maxson breathed. Wren responded by moving close enough that he could have counted her eyelashes.

     "I  _want_ to."

      "But I...I don't want this to be..." He paused, eyes moving restlessly about the room, unable to find the proper words. He didn't want it to be what? Awkward? That was almost a guarantee, but wasn't the issue in its entirety. No, something else, some other fear, made him shiver, but when Wren fixed him with a look he could only describe as hunger, all such thoughts scattered to the wind.

     "Arthur, please," she whispered. 

     He sucked in a breath and nodded, eyes wide as he waited for her to make her move. Which she gladly did, descending on his lips with all the raw passion and need of a person dying of starvation. At first he couldn't move, stunned by her ardor, but eventually moved his lips in time with hers, soft inhales of breath punctuating the silence. Every now and again he caught the faintest graze of teeth against his lips, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. Nor was the feeling of her tongue as it dipped into his mouth, brushing against him before disappearing. He chased after it with his own and was rewarded with a soft moan from Wren, who tangled her fingers into his hair and gave a pull that just bordered on painful.

     Her lips moved away from his mouth, kissing and nipping a path along his jaw and down his neck until she came to the lapels of his coat. She didn't even need to ask; Maxson was already shedding the offending garment, tossing it aside. Wren gave him a grateful smile and hooked a finger through the zipper of his flight suit. 

     "You can tell me to stop at any point, if it goes somewhere you don't like," she said quietly.

     He shook his head furiously. The very idea of this all coming to an end was not an option. Not now.

     Wren dragged the zipper down to his navel before sliding her hands into the suit and pushing it off of his broad shoulders. Every inch of skin that was exposed was met with an almost reverent look, and she took a moment to run her hands along the expanse of his pectorals and through the dark hair that covered them. A single finger brushed down, following the trail to his belly button and then back up again, stopping at his holotags. 

     "Do you want me to take them off?" he rasped, and she nodded. Maxson took the tags off from around his neck and set them on the table. 

     "It's my turn," Wren said softly, guiding his hands to the hem of her black cotton shirt. Slowly, as if unwrapping a gift, he lifted the garment up and over her head, letting it fall to the floor next to them in a crumpled heap. She tossed her hair to the side and reached around to unfasten her bra, which he was immediately grateful for. It wasn't a common thing to wear nowadays, and he would have had a difficult enough time getting it off even if his brain wasn't a fuzzy mess.

     She slipped the straps for her shoulders and dropped the undergarment to the floor. He stared up at her face, which was flushed a beauteous shade of rose, and waited for her nod of encouragement before allowing his gaze to move down to her chest. Prominent collarbones stood out below the column of her throat, a small scar above her left breast the only mark on her skin. His hands were still shaking, though slightly less now, as he moved them up to cup her breasts, which fit perfectly into his palms. The skin was so soft, so warm, and she let out the faintest of moans at the touch. Maxson responded in kind, placing a kiss above her heart.

     Wren caught his mouth in another feverish kiss, pressing her supple breasts against his chest. He held her by the waist, breaking from the embrace to pepper her throat with kisses. She responded by rocking her hips forward, making a sound that was nothing short of filthy when she felt  _him,_ hard and waiting. He nearly whined from even that briefest of contacts. 

     "Bed," she whispered, and it took Maxson a moment to realize that it was a command. He stood, strong arms supporting her as her legs looped around his waist as he carried her to the bed, setting her gently down. 

     He watched as she squirmed about, kicking out of her boots and yanking her jeans off. The fact that she hadn't been wearing underwear this whole time made his breath catch. Wren, naked as the day she was born, scooted to the edge of the mattress, kissing along his abdomen as she worked his flight suit down over his hips. Maxson pulled it down the rest of the way and kicked it somewhere in the room. He didn't care where it ended up; all that mattered right now was the fact that Wren had freed him from the confines of his own shorts. The Prydwen was far from cold this time of year, but the air felt cold against his burning skin. 

     A burning that only intensified when he saw how intently Wren was looking up at him when her slender fingers circled around his shaft and started pumping. He stopped her after a few seconds, his knees weak and threatening to give out entirely. Wren smirked and stopped, laying flat on her back and beckoning him to join her. Maxson climbed onto the bed on top of her, biting his lip when she lifted one leg and wrapped it around his waist.

     "Please," she said, voice tremulous, gaze pleading. And that was enough for him.

     He would be lying if he said he hadn't pictured this exact moment late at night when he couldn't sleep. But the way she exhaled as he pressed into her welcoming heat, the way she arched her back, fingers scrabbling at his back, it was better than anything he could have possibly imagined. The sensation of her, a soothing burn, wrapped tight around his cock, drew out a low groan from deep in his chest. He had to wait a moment, very nearly overwhelmed by all of this. She surrounded him in every possible way.

     After a few seconds, he began to move. Slowly at first, unsure of how fast or deep she would want him to go, but Wren sensed his hesitation and kissed along the side of his neck, whispering words of encouragement into his ear, fragments of sentences that were punctuated by breathy moans or exclamations of his name. 

     She moved with him, breathing growing more and more ragged as it grew clear she was reaching her peak. He pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skin he could find, pushing into her as deeply as he could. Her pretty lips opened into a soft, high-pitched gasp, eyes flying open, pupils blown wide as she arched into him, fingernails digging into the meat of his back as she climaxed, crying out his name over and over. Her velvet walls clenched around him, and he too tumbled down into the void of ecstasy, growling as he jerked forward into her. 

     Wren held his head tight against her chest as he collapsed next to her, both of them gasping for breath. She stroked his hair with a shaky hand, and the sound of her heartbeat was like a lullaby, coaxing him into sleep.

     "I love you," he breathed, but fell asleep before he could hear if she answered.

* * *

 

     He slept better that night than he had in weeks. There were no nightmares, in fact, no dreams at all, to disturb him, and he woke and stretched, muscles twinging from the previous night's activities. Maxson rolled over and reached out for Wren, but his hand felt empty air. His eyes snapped open and he looked wildly around the room.

     "Wren?" He didn't know why he bothered calling her name; the room was empty, her clothes gone. The only sign that she had been there was her empty glass, still sitting on the table. His own clothes had been gathered up and folded neatly beside it. 

     Quickly, Maxson dressed himself, taking a moment to make sure he was presentable before exiting his quarters. He went down to the armor bay and found Paladin Danse there, talking with Proctor Ingram, but Wren was not with him.

     "Good morning, Elder," Danse said with a salute. "Are you feeling well? You look exhausted."

     Maxson cleared his throat. "I feel fine, Paladin. Have you seen Knight Hayworth this morning?"

     Ingram jabbed a thumb at Wren's empty power armor station. "Suited up just before sunrise. Said she had some business to take care of, but that she'd be back soon."

     "Did you need her?" Danse asked, still looking at Maxson with concern. 

     "No," he croaked. "I'll be in my quarters should anyone need me." 

     Danse clearly had questions, but he didn't care. Maxson dragged himself back to his room and shut the door, sinking down onto the floor as it closed.

     That cold feeling of fear from the night before settled back heavy in his belly. But now he knew exactly what it was he had been afraid of all along. 


	10. Implosion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry for the delay. I hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving, though! <3  
> This one's pretty short, but things are about to get intense, so I guess this is the calm before the storm?

Several days had passed, and Wren still hadn't returned, and it was getting increasingly more difficult for Maxson to ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut. An unpleasant mix of anxiety, fear, embarrassment; he still didn't know why she left the way she did. Regret, perhaps? Maxson prayed that wasn't the case, but even if it was, knowing would be better than the uncertainty. 

Apparently his inner turmoil had not escaped notice, despite his efforts to stay buried in his work. Paladin Danse cornered him in the briefing room, eyebrows so bunched up Maxson was concerned they might stay that way. 

"Knight Hayworth often disappears to assist the people of the Commonwealth," Danse said. "This isn't the first time she's done it, but you seem agitated by her absence."

Maxson grunted in response.

"May I ask why?"

The Elder refused to answer for a time, staring out at the ruins of Boston that stretched on for miles. Clouds were gathering on the horizon, thick and grey, sunlight struggling to filter beyond the barrier. Agitated? The Paladin had no idea.

"We...left things in a bit of an awkward spot before she left," he explained vaguely. The less Danse knew, the better. "I was hoping to see her before she left. That is all."

Danse was not satisfied with the answer, frown only deepening. Not an upset look, exactly, more concerned. "I thought you were going to try and patch things up, Arthur, not make them worse."

Maxson pulled a wounded expression. "I was going to. I mean, I did, we just...we..." His voice trailed off, the faintest prickling of warmth creeping up the back of his neck. "I don't think it's any of your business," he concluded, a little too quickly. Danse looked shocked for a moment before his features settled back into neutrality.

"I see."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Maxson demanded, rounding on the Paladin, who threw up his hands in defense.

"I didn't mean anything, Arthur. It's...I'll admit I'm a bit surprised. I knew you two were  _interested_ in one another, I just didn't think -"

"Didn't think what?"

Despite the tense atmosphere, Danse cracked a grin. "You certainly didn't waste any time, did you?"

Maxson could have throttled him right then and there, but the tension shattered, air turned heavy and cold. "I...I suppose not. We probably...we probably ought to have waited, however."

"I wasn't trying to imply anything, Arthur, I just -"

"No, no, it was...it was a mistake. She left before I woke up the next morning, so clearly something went wrong." Maxson sighed heavily, arms folded tight across his chest. Blue eyes stared blankly out of the panes of glass again, not really seeing anything. "I just wish she would have told me  _what exactly_ that was before running off and vanishing."

"A reasonable request," Danse agreed. "Wren can be...well, she doesn't like to stay in one place for too long, and there's always someone out in the wasteland asking for her. She's too nice to refuse anyone help, so I don't doubt her reason for leaving. The timing might have been  _inconvenient_ but I wouldn't read any further into it."

Still looking miserable, Maxson met the Paladin's gaze. "And why is that?"

"Knight Hayworth has confided a great deal to me, Arthur, including the nature of her feelings for you."

He felt his eyes grow wide. "She told you that?"

Danse looked sheepish. "Well, not exactly, but she talks in her sleep, and you seem to show up in her dreams quite often."

"That isn't...I mean, she shouldn't..." he spluttered. Danse just laughed. 

"If it will make you feel better, Arthur, I can try and contact her. I'm due to meet with Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys at the police station tomorrow. Because, while Wren vanishing isn't uncommon, it is a bit odd that she hasn't reached out at least once. Usually she gives me some idea of where she is, just in case."

"That would make me feel much better, actually. Thank you, Danse."

"Of course." The Paladin smiled pleasantly, giving Maxson a clap on the shoulder before excusing himself.

His talk with Danse had soothed his nerves just enough to allow him to function normally again. Which was fortunate, considering the fact that the work on Liberty Prime was nearing completion at long last. Dr. Li had thrown herself into the work almost immediately after her arrival. There was still a bit of thorniness in the air between Li and Proctor Ingram, but the two still managed to work together well. 

With Liberty Prime sucking up so much of the Brotherhood's time and manpower, Maxson lost track of the days since Wren had left, and when Danse had left after her. It had to have been nearly two weeks now, and still no word from either of them. The days went by quick, work keeping his thoughts elsewhere, but every night dragged on like an eternity. And tonight was no exception. Maxson continually glanced at the clock, the hours passing by at the speed of a slug. But just as he was nodding off, still sitting at his desk, there was a sharp knock on the door. Groaning, the Elder dragged himself up out of the chair and opened the door. 

"Sorry for disturbing you so late, Elder Maxson, but I only just arrived." Paladin Danse looked like he had been to hell and back, his eyes rimmed red and usually well-groomed hair a tangled mess. "I have news about Knight Hayworth, but, uh, I don't think you'll like it very much."

Maxson didn't even let him into the room, a sinking feeling dropping into his stomach. "Is she all right? Where is she? What happened?" he demanded.

"She's alive, she's not hurt," Danse assured him. "It's more  _where_ she is, what she's been doing that is...well, for lack of a better term,  _unsettling."_

"Dammit, just tell me, Danse." Maxson nearly yanked the Paladin into the room. What did he mean "unsettling?" What could Wren have possibly gotten herself into now?

"We all knew that Wren has been working with the Minutemen, does the odd job for settlers now and then, worked out of Diamond City for a bit, but -" Danse hesitated, clearly avoiding Maxson's gaze. Unusual for the usually steadfast Paladin. "There's another group she's been working with, Arthur. Closely."

"Who?" His voice came out as a croak. It couldn't be the Institute, could it? 

"Arthur, she's been working for the Railroad." Maxson felt his blood turn to ice. "Since before she helped us at the police station. One of our scouts saw her with one of the Railroad's known members. I don't know what exactly she hoped to gain by aligning herself with us while affiliated with them, but-"

"She  _used_ us," the Elder hissed, hands curling into fists. Strange emotions rose up in his chest, some familiar, like the heat of rage, others foreign and cold. "She used  _me."_

Danse met his gaze, looking despondent. "I'm so sorry, Arthur, if I had known, I never would have brought her into the fold."

Maxson ignored the apology, too furious to care. She had betrayed all of them, then. He had trusted her, allowed her in, allowed himself to  _love_ her, and for what end? Wren hadn't cared for any of them, hadn't cared for him, beyond sucking whatever useful information she could from them before disappearing entirely.

"Where is she now?" he asked, tone far more even than he currently felt. 

"Last I heard, she was in Diamond City, but we're keeping tabs on her wherever she goes."

"Good." Maxson turned to Danse, face unreadable, though his eyes were cold as ice. Hands clasped behind his back, feet planted firmly on the floor; he looked every bit the part of the tyrant he'd been accused of being countless times before. "When next you see her, Paladin, I want her brought back aboard the Prydwen. I would like to personally confront her and learn exactly how deep her treachery runs before deciding on a punishment."

It didn't seem possible, but Danse looked even more miserable than before, but he nodded. "Yes, Elder. I'll do just that." He saluted hastily and hurried away, leaving Maxson alone in his room.

_How deep her treachery runs._

Maxson picked up one of the empty liquor bottles from beside his terminal, whipping it at the far wall with as much strength as he could muster. The sound of glass shattering was immensely satisfying, if only for a moment. He knew exactly how deep the treachery ran and where exactly it ended, tangled up in the bloody pulp that was all that remained of his broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all like angst, because there's a decent amount of it to come~ Sorry for how short this one was, but the next one should be a more acceptable length xD


	11. Insult

Two days came and went with no sign of Paladin Danse or Knight Hayworth. Maxson's mood went from bad to worse, and everyone, even Lancer Captain Kells, avoided him at all costs. One poor Knight Initiate was unfortunate enough to cross his path after he had gathered a report from Proctor Teagan, only to be berated for having a small tear on her uniform. Tonight was the same, groups of soldiers parting like the Red Sea at Maxson's approach. 

Oddly enough, it seemed that everyone on the Prydwen had no idea why he was so irate. Wren's double-crossing seemed to have been kept between himself and Danse, and despite everything, Maxson preferred it that way. It would make dealing with the situation much easier. No less painful, but there would be less fallout among the ranks. Every passing hour was agonizing, him dreading the confrontation that was to come. It was a foreign feeling, one that only made the circumstances worse. Thankfully he didn't have to deal with these things often, but what Wren had done blew any sort of insubordination out of the water. The Railroad was one of their primary enemies in the Commonwealth, second only to the Institute. To learn that Wren had been working alongside them...it was not to be taken lightly.

Maxson's torment came to an end shortly before midnight on the second night after Danse had left to find Wren. Their return to the Prydwen was quiet, the Paladin coming into Maxson's room before Wren to tell him she was there.

"Are you going to be okay, Arthur?" he asked, sounding utterly exhausted. His face was grey, heavy bags under bloodshot eyes. "You could always wait until tomorrow."

The Elder stood from his chair, face unreadable, though his eyes were dark. "No," he said, "I'll deal with it now. Send her in, please."

Danse opened his mouth as if to say something further before deciding against it, simply nodding and exiting the room. Hushed voices came from outside before the door creaked open, Wren stepping over the threshold before closing it securely behind her. Under any other circumstance, Maxson might have felt sorry for her. She looked small, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around her torso as if to protect herself. Maybe somewhere inside of him, he still did feel a pang of concern, but he quickly snuffed it out. He was silent for several moments, scrutinizing the woman before him as she shifted on her feet, tucking a loose piece of hair behind a pale ear. 

Despite the million questions slamming themselves against the inside of his skull, Maxson could only force out one strangled word.

_"Why?"_

Wren made a soft sound as she sucked in a breath, bringing up her eyes to meet his gaze. "I'm..." She hesitated.

"You're what? Sorry?" he hissed out from behind clenched teeth, hands curling into fists. "You have betrayed us all. Sorry isn't good enough."

"It's not that simple," she said quietly. "There's a lot more going on here than you know."

"I know you've been fraternizing with the Railroad. What more could be going on? Clearly you've just been here to gather information." She opened her mouth to interject but Maxson kept talking. "And clearly you were prepared to do whatever you could to obtain it." He had to stop, trying to steady his wavering tone. "You  _used_ me, Wren."

Her eyes widened, lips parting as she made a shocked noise. "No," she said firmly. "No, I didn't. I've fucked up, I'll readily admit to that, but...but what we did was...it wasn't using you."

"And why the  _fuck_ should I believe anything you have to say? How can I trust you?"

"You can't. But I'm telling the truth, whether you believe me or not." Wren shifted again, wrapping her arms even tighter around herself. "If you could just give me a chance to explain, that's all I ask."

Maxson stared at her, mind abuzz as he chewed furiously at his bottom lip until the tang of blood coated his tongue.

"Very well." He gestured to the table and chairs. Wren looked only slightly relieved as she settled down opposite him, hands folding on her lap as she tapped one foot nervously. Once he had sat, she looked up at him.

"When I thawed out a few months ago, I had no one. No friends, no family, nothing," she began, voice quiet. "The only person I had left was Shaun, and I was desperate to find him. Nothing else and no one else mattered. I found the Railroad first, and they were willing to bend over backwards to get me into the Institute. But it was dead end after dead end. Yes, I've been running with them for a while and I've..." Wren grew quiet, eyes darting nervously around the room. "I've been helping them smuggle synths out of the Commonwealth."

It was Maxson's turn to make a wounded sound, his greatest fears confirmed. "That goes against  _everything_ the Brotherhood believes in," he said coldly. "Against everything you yourself claimed to believe in."

"I never said anything of the sort," she said, eyes narrowing. "And you know that I'm friends with lots of different people, so I don't know why the fact that I don't hate synths comes as such a shock. They aren't all evil, Arthur. Most of them hate the Institute just as much as you. They didn't ask to be made any more than you asked to be born." 

It was everything he could do to keep himself from shaking, hands clenched into fists so tight that his fingernails were very nearly drawing blood. He couldn't bring himself to respond to the poison she was spewing, but she continued speaking anyway.

"I never intended for things to play out the way they did, though, I swear. I just knew that in the end, the Brotherhood would be my best bet to get into the Institute and wipe those fuckers off the face of the earth. But...knowing that was the end goal...I was trying to finalize plans to help one last attempt to free as many synths as possible before the place was destroyed. That's it. I swear that's it, Arthur. I...I should have told you from the get go, I know, but..." A look of despair passed over her face like a cloud. "Everything changed when I met you."

His heart felt like it was being shredded apart all over again. "Don't talk to me like that," he croaked weakly. "I can't...we can't...This doesn't change anything. This doesn't change what you've done. Doesn't change the fact that you lied to me."

Wren nodded slowly. "I know," she whispered. "I never meant to hurt you like this. I never meant to make you feel like I'd betrayed you or the Brotherhood."

Maxson stared at the table, heart hammering in his throat. "That's not good enough," he said, the words so cold that they burned his lips as he spoke. "You've put us and our entire operation at risk. Such actions are inexcusable."

"Please," Wren breathed hoarsely, "please don't do this."

Blue eyes met grey, though the woman's face was blurred out by unshed tears. 

"You need to leave."

Wren choked back a sob, but stood up despite her obvious trembling. She gave him one last desperate look before fleeing from the room, slamming the door behind her.

There were a few moments of silence before Maxson buried his face in his hands and wept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowee I've really been slacking on this oof. I'm going to get back on track with regular updates, though, I swear! As always, thank you all for being so patient! <3
> 
> Lots of angst ahead, darn these two. 3:   
> Don't worry, though, it won't last forever~!


	12. Interjection

At long last, work on Liberty Prime was nearly complete. Several tests were run to ensure his systems came online properly, and the entirety of the Brotherhood held their collective breaths as the massive robot powered up. Diagnostic scans were performed and Liberty Prime responded as well as they had hoped. Doctor Li was pleased with his responses, although he still needed a permanent power supply. And, of course, his bomb pack still required reloading. Still, the project had come a long way in the past months, and even Maxson was impressed by their progress.

It was difficult to celebrate, though. Because despite work on Prime being so close he could almost taste it, there was a shadow that lurked after him. A weight that rested on his shoulders, and it grew heavier by the day.  

There had been no sign of Wren since Maxson had sent her away. No word had been sent, no one had had any contact with her for nearly two weeks now. Maxson found himself worrying for her, even though the bitter feeling that had wormed its way into his chest still lingered there like a cancer. Every night he lay awake, replaying the events of that night over and over in his mind. She was a traitor, and he should despise her. He shouldn't concern himself with her whereabouts, her well-being. And yet he did, recalling that soft smile, those bright eyes; the feeling of her fingers knotting in his hair. 

A pang of guilt cut through his thoughts when he remembered her face before she turned and fled the Prydwen. Her dove eyes wide enough he could see his own reflection, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. When Wren had bolted from the Prydwen, she'd left so quick that she left most of her things behind, including her Power Armor, which remained at her station.

Maxson didn't know what to do with it, so there it stayed, as if waiting for her return.

If she ever did.

What she had done behind his back cut him deep, but beyond that, a hurt lingered far deeper. Despite what she had done, he  _missed_ her. He missed her quick wit, her infectious smile. Her feisty personality that was far larger than her petite frame made her out to be. What he had said to her, sending her away; it was a mistake. But it was too late. It was done, and he couldn't take it back, no matter how much he wished he could. And now Wren was gone god knows where, and it was likely she would never speak to him again.

There was no one to blame but himself.

Another day passed in a haze, the hours spent emptying glass after glass of bourbon, pacing back and forth in his room until he had certainly worn a path in the floor. Maxson knew that it was likely that any attempt he made to contact Wren personally would be ignored, but he'd be damned if he let that stop him. There was only one thing to be done.

Luckily for him, Danse was still in the airport, awaiting his next assignment. Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys had been moved from the police station to a small outpost on the outskirts of the Glowing Sea, and it would be another few days before the Paladin went to join them. Pre-War documentation had been found that led the Brotherhood to believe that there was a stockpile of Mark 28 nuclear bombs located within the irradiated wastes, and Danse had volunteered to go after them. After all, he had been to the Glowing Sea before, and was familiar with its challenges. 

Maxson sent for the Paladin, who met him in the briefing room shortly after. His power armor looked recently cleaned, though the man himself looked just as haggard as the last time the Elder had seen him. A frown sat heavy on his face, eyes weary as he saluted.

"Reporting in as requested, Elder," Danse said, an edge to his voice; clearly the business with Wren was still fresh in his mind, too.

Maxson nodded curtly, brow furrowing. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Paladin. I have a bit of a personal request to make." Danse looked confused.

"A personal request?"

"Yes. And one I don't make lightly." Maxson passed a hand over his face. "I'm worried about Knight Hay- Wren. I'm worried about Wren. I didn't expect her to reach out, but no one has seen her in two weeks. I would like you to see if you can't find her."

Danse's expression was a weird mix of surprise and relief. "I'll admit, Arthur, I wouldn't think you would want anything to do with her after what happened."

"I'm surprised at myself as well." A small, sad smile played across his features for a split second. "But I can't stop thinking about her.  _Worrying_ about her. If something happened to her, it would be my fault. I sent her away. I shouldn't have sent her away like I did."

"Her actions are her own, Arthur. No one made her work with the Railroad, and it was her choice to keep her affiliations secret. No one would blame you for excommunicating her." Danse paused, obviously considering what to say next. "But, I will admit that I am concerned as well. Despite her less than savory dealings, she was a good soldier. Efficient, fearless, and always putting the needs of others before her own."

Maxson nodded, heart stuttering at Danse's words. "She was," he agreed softly, and took in a deep breath, holding it for a moment before continuing in an even softer voice, almost a whisper. "I miss her, Danse."

The Paladin looked sympathetic. "I'll find her, Arthur. But, assuming she even wants to speak with me, what do you want me to tell her?"

He hadn't thought of that, but there were at least a thousand things he wanted to say. "Just...tell her I'm sorry for sending her away like I did, and if she is willing, to please give me the chance to apologize in person. I ask nothing more than that." 

"I'll pass it along." Danse saluted. "I'll send word as soon as I'm able."

Even that couldn't be soon enough, but he would have to wait. At least it was a start.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Proctor, there is only one place we can find something that will be enough to power Prime, and you'll have to act quickly. The Brotherhood won't be the only ones who are interested in it."

Maxson had walked in on a rather heated discussion -- if he could call it that -- between Proctor Ingram and Doctor Li, who were trying to come up with a plan to finish Liberty Prime before the Mark 28 bombs were brought back. 

"You should have told me sooner, Doctor. I could have sent people to Mass Fusion  _weeks_ ago!" Ingram snapped. "Now you're telling me that by the time we get there, it's likely that the place will be crawling with synths?"

The Elder cleared his throat and the women fell silent, hastily saluting while still glaring at one another out of the corners of their eyes. 

"Is there a problem?" Maxson asked calmly. 

They hesitated before replying "no, Elder," in unison. He frowned, heavy gaze settling between them, daring one of them to speak up.

"We need a piece of pre-War tech, the beryllium agitator, to be able to power Liberty Prime, but it seems Doctor Li waited until the last possible moment to inform me of this, despite the fact that the Institute was interested in it as well."

Maxson turned his attention to Li, who wore a more sour expression than usual. 

"I was unaware of its existence until recently, as I've told Proctor Ingram several times. Documentation concerning the beryllium agitator was only just discovered by Proctor Teagan's scribes." She crossed her arms, still glowering as she spoke. "But I know that it will only be a matter of time before the Institute learns of its location, and I'm sure they'll be just as interested in recovering it."

He folded his hands behind his back. "I see. Well, this arguing seems to only be distracting us from retrieving this device. Proctor Ingram, I trust you'll be turning your attention to recovering the beryllium agitator instead of antagonizing Doctor Li? Who I am  _very sure_ is devoting her own attention to preparing for the refill of Liberty Prime's bomb pack?"

They exchanged heated looks again before grumbling in agreement. Maxson nodded sternly.

"Very good," he said. "Please inform me of any further developments, Doctor Li. And Proctor, let me know when you're ready to go to Mass Fusion."

Li and Ingram saluted after him as he departed, boarding the vertibird to go back up to the Prydwen. Only seconds after it had docked, a Scribe sprinted up to him.

"Perfect timing, Elder Maxson. There's a message for you, sir, from Paladin Danse. He said that he completed your request, and will be returning to the Prydwen by nightfall."

Maxson felt his mouth go dry, and it took him a moment to unglue his tongue from the roof of his mouth in order to respond. "Thank you," he said, sounding far calmer than he felt. "You are dismissed."

"Elder," the Scribe chimed before bustling away just as quickly as they had come.

He hurried off, too. While it was still some time before nightfall, he still felt like there was no time at all. He had to make some effort to make his quarters look at least somewhat presentable, tossing away all of the empty bottles and straightening up the loose papers scattered about like confetti. Why he was so concerned with the appearance of his room, he didn't really know. But if this was the only time he had to make amends with the woman who had broken his heart -- and whose heart he had broken, too, he was sure -- he wanted to make every second count.

Perhaps this was why he had never allowed anyone that close before. Love was horrendously complicated and confused and it  _hurt._

Despite his shaking hands and anxious thoughts, Maxson nearly fell asleep at his desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork. Just as he was nodding off, a knock made him bolt upright. For a moment he wondered if maybe he'd imagined it, but it was followed by another, this one firmer than the last. Maxson stood, hesitating for a split second before opening the door. 

He'd been expecting Paladin Danse, but it was Wren. Alone, wearing her blue Vault suit for the first time that he could remember. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, her face thinner than before, and her expression was a mix of emotions. Maxson stared for a moment, but he was only able to name a few. Worry, fear, a hint of anger, but mostly she just looked tired. She reached up, scratching the back of her neck with her cybernetic arm. 

"Hello, Elder Maxson," she said, and even though her voice was soft, it sounded like a scream in the awkward silence that had settled between them. "Paladin Danse said you wanted to see me?"

The wounds that had just barely started to close were laid open again, pain and relief flooding icy hot through his veins at the sound of her voice. He should still be angry, right? Outraged at the secrets she had kept? Furious at her betrayal? But there was no anger in him anymore. The hurt that burned in him was old, and it was nothing compared to how relieved he was that she was here again, safe. Though he couldn't speak for her, and he would not blame her if she never wanted to see him again after this.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Wren demanded, tone awash with bitterness. "Or are you going to say something?"

Maxson's voice faltered for a moment. "There...are many things I want to say to you," he said slowly, "but they can wait. I...Wren, I'm so sorry." He gritted his teeth, trying to bite back the lump welling up in his throat. "I shouldn't have sent you away like I did. You... I cannot approve of your actions, but... I never should have questioned your intentions. You've never given me reason to. I...was hurt, and I lashed out. It is likely too late, but... I just wanted to tell you how much I regret my actions."

Wren stared blankly at him for what seemed an eternity, fingers twitching at her sides. "You're sorry. You had me come all this way to tell you that you're  _sorry."_ Her tone was unreadable, but it made him cringe all the same. He knew he was too late to expect her to do anything but hate him. "I'm sorry, too, Arthur."

He felt his eyes widen, lips parting in surprise. "I...what?"

"I said it before, but you seem to be more willing to listen now." Wren smiled miserably at him. "I'm sorry. I never should have kept my plans a secret from you. Especially since you've done so much for me. Since we..." She cleared her throat. "I won't lie, I'm still hurt after our last little..." 

"Interaction," he suggested, and she nodded.

"Interaction," she continued, "but I'm...I'm willing to try again. Start all over, if we need to. I just...I missed you, Arthur." Tears cascaded freely down her cheeks. "I missed you like  _crazy."_

"I missed you, too," he breathed.

He wasn't sure which of them moved first, or maybe they moved at the same time, but the next thing he knew, she was pressed up against his chest, clinging to him and crying silently into his shoulder. His own tears trickled down, small diamonds in her snowy hair as they sparkled in the wan light. Wren stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his damp cheek.

"You never gave me the chance to answer, you know."

"Answer?" Maxson asked, genuinely confused.

"The other night." She blushed, and he felt his own cheeks grow hot. "You...you said you loved me, and then fell asleep before I could answer."

"Oh." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "You don't need to-"

Wren shushed him with another, feather-light brush of her lips. "I love you, too."

* * *

 

They spent the next several hours talking. Wren agreed to pick up where she had left off, and Maxson decided to overlook her previous interactions after she had assured him that she had cut ties with the Railroad. When he pressed her, Wren only said her work with them was complete, and Maxson did not question her further. He had no desire to know what exactly that meant. 

It was almost one o'clock in the morning when Danse came to check on them. He looked relieved to the point of crying when he learned that they had made amends.

"Here I was thinking I would have to lock the two of you in a room for weeks until you made up," he teased.

"You still could," Wren suggested, winking at Maxson, who couldn't meet her gaze.

"Well, I should uh, I should get some sleep. And so should you, Knight Hayworth. It's a long trek to the Glowing Sea." Danse grinned as he excused himself.

"You're going to the Glowing Sea? Again?" Maxson tried not to sound too worried. Wren shrugged.

"What can I say? The allure of death by giant radioactive monster is irresistible," she quipped. "Don't worry, Arthur, it shouldn't be too difficult an endeavor. We know exactly where we're going, and I'm going with Danse and his crew. Not like Prime can just go and find his own ammunition."

"Perhaps not, but maybe I'll ask Doctor Li to add that to his programming."

"I wouldn't. Poor woman is already  _this close_ to snapping."

Maxson snorted. "She shouldn't have agreed to come and work on him again, then."

"Something tells me that even if she had said no, you still would have found someone else to harass about it, Arthur."

"True," he chuckled. "I'm happy you're back, Wren."

"So am I," she said with a smile. "I, uh, I should get some rest. We're leaving early, and I don't want to be the one to doze off and fall out of a vertibird." Wren stood, giving him one last kiss on the cheek. "Good night, Arthur."

"Good night," he said breathlessly. When the door closed behind her, he felt a rush of warmth. She was back. She didn't hate him.

Maybe there was hope for them yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow what do you know, things are getting semi-okay with these two dorks again??  
> I'm curious, though, I started a mix for this a while ago. Would any of you be interested in listening to it? I've been considering putting up a link for it.  
> As always, thanks for sticking around! <3


	13. Inhuman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny because I was actually going to completely skip over Blind Betrayal only because originally Danse wasn't going to be as big a part of this as he is. But I'm a slut for angst and with Wren's tangled web of allegiances I decided it would be an interesting twist. 
> 
> Not to mention it seems like y'all were hyped for it so I couldn't deny my audience! As always, much love to you all!

Just before dawn, when the first rays of sunlight began to glow over the eastern horizon, Maxson went out to the flight deck to see Wren, Danse, and their team off. Their vertibird disappeared rapidly into the distance and once again, he found that there was nothing he could do but wait. Something he grew tired of. He felt like a child in the Citadel all over again, wanting nothing more than to escape the stifling safety of those walls and get his hands dirty.  _Do_ something.

He could almost hear Stelle's voice again, her soft laugh as she urged him not to grow up. 

Yet here he was, the oldest twenty year old in the Commonwealth, one of, if not the most powerful men on the east coast, and he felt just as trapped as he did then. It seemed that curse would never let him be.

"You really ought to find a hobby, Elder," Ingram remarked when Maxson made his way to the armor bay, almost by accident. He'd been wandering around, trying to distract himself. "Just to take your mind off things a bit."

"What would you suggest, Proctor? Unless you're finally considering learning how to play chess."

"And play who? You? No offense, Elder, but I'd rather not. Lancer-Captain Kells has told me how many times you've beaten him, and I'd rather keep my pride."

"Fair enough," Maxson laughed. "May I ask why you're inquiring about how I pass my free time?"

Ingram shrugged. "I just know you've been...on edge lately. No offense, sir, but you really should find a way to relax."

"I thank you for your concern, Proctor. I'll try and keep myself out of trouble." 

Ingram flashed him a grin. "Don't worry, Elder, we'll have plenty of action soon enough. It won't be long before we finally take on the Institute."

But soon enough was still too far away for his liking. There was still plenty to be done before they could finally go to battle; Liberty Prime still wasn't complete, after all. 

Thankfully, though, it didn't seem like he'd have to wait long for that. The next afternoon, a pulser signal was received from out in the Glowing Sea; the Mark 28's had been successfully located. Though garbled, a transmission was received as well.

_Knight Hayworth reporting in. Bombs for Prime found and coordinates sent. Paladin Danse is staying behind to stand guard. I'm heading back to Waypoint Echo to meet with my bird to return to the Prydwen. Assuming he's not there, tell the Elder I'll be back soon. Repeating._

Maxson tried not to look too flustered when he heard her voice come over the radio, but it didn't seem to matter. The Scribes who were there jotting down the message and the coordinates sent by the pulser didn't care about that part of the message. Thankfully.

"Oh, Elder Maxson, I thought you might be here." Proctor Quinlan appeared in the doorway, clipboard in his hands and his glasses balancing precariously on the tip of his nose. "Might I have a word with you?"

Maxson dipped his head in agreement and followed the Proctor to his office, where he set down his clipboard and gave the Elder a sour look.

"I have finished sorting through the encrypted data on the holotape Knight Hayworth brought back after her venture into the Institute."

His ears perked at that. "Yes? Have you found anything of interest?"

Quinlan huffed. "Indeed I have, Elder. Something very interesting. But I'm afraid it isn't good news."

* * *

 

Wren returned the following morning, looking a bit rough but not too injured. Her power armour was returned to its station and she had taken the time to scrub herself clean of any lingering radiation before coming to meet Maxson in the briefing room.

"Hello, Elder Maxson!" she said cheerfully. "Is something wrong? You look more miserable than usual."

Maxson was staring out of the window when he spoke, voice gravely quiet. "Wren, I was willing to overlook your indiscretion before, so now I... I need you to be completely honest with me." He turned to face her, and her expression turned fearful.

"What are you talking about, Arthur? You know I'm not going to -"

"Wren, did you know that Danse is a synth?" 

She froze, mouth falling open as she made a shocked sound. "I... what? Danse is a what?"

"A synth. We uncovered data from the holotape you brought back, and we have confirmed that Paladin Danse is, in fact, a synth. Unit M7-97."

"Are you sure?" Wren's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Positive." Maxson nodded. "We were able to match his DNA with that of the synth listed." 

Wren was silent for a very long time, her eyes glazed over as it was clear she was thinking hard about what had been said. "Where is he now?"

"Missing. He disappeared shortly after it was discovered. Would you know anything about that?"

"As much as I wish I could say yes, I can't. Arthur, I swear I had no idea that he was a synth." Her words were earnest as she stepped closer to him. "You know as well as I that if I had known what he was, I would have had him smuggled out of here before you even knew."

He couldn't help but chuckle, though there was no humor in the sound. "I believe you. This whole situation just... It puts me in a difficult position."

Wren inhaled sharply, hands curling and uncurling where they hung at her waist, the whirring of the mechanics of her cybernetic arm the only sound in the suddenly silent room. 

"You're going to have him killed, aren't you?" 

Maxson flinched, shoulders hunching as he forced himself to look her in the eye. "Our tenets are unwavering, Wren, and as Elder, I am sworn to uphold them."

" _Fuck_ the tenets, Arthur, this is  _Danse_ we're talking about!" Wren's grey eyes were wild as she shoved a finger in his face. "Synth or not, he's done nothing but serve the Brotherhood loyally. He's given himself entirely to the cause."

"Do you think I  _want_ to order one of my best men, one of my only friends to be killed, Wren? Do you think I  _like_ the idea of this having to be done?" Maxson snarled. "Because I don't. I just..." He made a strangled sound, burying his face in his hands. "There's nothing I can do. Word has already spread through the Brotherhood. If I were to make an exception for him, there would be hell to pay."

Wren cleared her throat before speaking. "Maybe there's something you can do. Or, more accurately, me." Maxson tilted his head, listening carefully. "I may not be working with the...well, you know who I mean, but I still have contacts. If you don't want him killed, there's another option. Let me help, Arthur. Let me get him out of here for good. Then you can tell everyone he's dead and no one will be the wiser."

He felt his face contorting into an even more sour expression, brow furrowing and scowl deepening. "Are you really suggesting that I lie? That I let that...that..." He couldn't bring himself to say it. "You want me to let Danse just walk free?" Wren nodded, crossing her arms. 

"Yes. Because if any harm comes to him, Arthur, I swear I'll -"

He lifted a hand and she fell silent, her gaze intense as she pursed her lips. 

"I'll send you to find him. No one will question that; they'll assume that you want revenge for him lying to you. Get him out of the Commonwealth, however you see fit, but bring me back his holotags. That will be enough proof for everyone else." He passed his hands over his eyes. "Be discreet, Wren. I don't want to think about what would happen to you if your intentions are discovered."

Wren cracked a grin and laughed. "I'm always discreet, Arthur," she teased. "But seriously, don't worry. This is, uh, well, it's not exactly my first time doing this."

"Don't remind me," Maxson groaned. "Just...send word when you've found him, will you, please? So I won't wear a path through the floor of the Prydwen. Ingram says I pace too much when you're not here." Wren's smile was gentler now and she placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

"I will, Arthur, I promise."

She was gone before he could say another word.

* * *

 

Danse was tracked down quicker than he had expected, and once Wren's message came through, Maxson ordered a vertibird prepared. Kells didn't argue, but merely inquired as to why he felt the need to go himself.

"Do you distrust Knight Hayworth? Do you think she won't fulfill her orders?" he asked, and Maxson shook his head.

"No, I trust she carried them out without question," he said simply. "But it wasn't an easy order to carry out, I am sure, and if there is any assistance I can lend, I will." 

That seemed to satisfy the Lancer-Captain enough, and he saluted before the Elder climbed into the vertibird. It was refreshing to be out of the Prydwen, the slightly chilled air blowing across his face as he stared out of the bird into the wasteland beneath them. The scorched earth, the skeletal remains of crumbling buildings, familiar sights, yes, but they still gave him pause. The death and decay and ruin was everyday life for everyone now, including him, and the war that had caused it was like a legend. A story that was told over and over so many times that it almost didn't seem real anymore.

But Wren had been there. She had witnessed it herself; seen the fire that burned the world, corrupted it into this twisted echo of what it used to be. It seemed almost impossible that someone like her had survived. And not only survived, but had remained whole. Untainted by not only time or radiation, but the wickedness that had crept out from humanity's destruction. Wren was a rare example of what mankind could be once again.

Maxson's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the vertibird's landing gears grinding out. With a thud it landed, and Maxson climbed out, telling the pilot to wait for him to return. 

He hadn't been to this part of the Commonwealth before, mostly because there was no reason. It was isolated, surrounded by hostile wilderness, far away from any semblance of civilization. The perfect place to hide out, Maxson thought. As he approached the bunker where Wren said she was located, he heard voices. Wren and Danse were standing just beyond the bunker doors, and at his approach, Wren waved.

"Figured you couldn't stay away," she said with a laugh.

Maxson didn't say anything, eyes flicking over to Danse, who looked like he was fighting the urge to flee. Wren cleared her throat loudly and both men flinched.

"Arthur," Danse said firmly, but Maxson could practically smell the trepidation that radiated from him.

"Danse," he replied coolly. It was hard to look Danse in the eye now. Was he doomed to be betrayed by everyone he trusted? "I didn't think you would still be here. I assumed you would turn tail and flee before anyone had a chance to follow up on Knight Hayworth's orders."

The man -- synth, Maxson had to remember that -- squared his shoulders. "I may be many things, Arthur, but a coward is not one of them."

Wren stepped between them, putting a hand on Danse's chest. "Let's not start this, you two. Arthur, Danse didn't want to leave the 'Wealth before he got a chance to speak with you. I figured you would come after I sent word on my location. And if not, we were discussing how to organize a safe meeting with you."

"I'm here now," Maxson said coolly.

Wren shot him a warning look, which he ignored. 

"Before I left, I wanted you to know, Arthur, I never lied to you. I had no idea what I was until you did," Danse said, and Maxson couldn't hold back a bitter laugh. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but it's the truth. When Wren showed up, I thought you had sent her to kill me. When she told me otherwise, I knew I had to tell you this in person. I owe you that much."

Maxson snorted. "The  _only_ reason you're alive is because of Knight Hayworth," he said, voice dark. "It would have given me no pleasure to have you executed, Danse, but it was the only way I could see. It was only because Knight Hayworth suggested I use her contacts to smuggle you out of the Commonwealth that you're still alive." Wren opened her mouth to speak, but Danse spoke first.

"I figured as much," he said, tone a mixture of bitterness and resignation. "I expected and deserve no more than that. All I can do is tell you that I'm thankful you have chosen to spare my life."

"Do not take my mercy for acceptance, Danse," Maxson spat. "You are still the physical embodiment of what the Brotherhood hates most: technology that has gone too far. It may go without saying, but I will say it anyway; from here on out, you are banished from the Brotherhood of Steel. As far as I am concerned, you're dead."

"I understand," Danse said quietly. "I...thank you, Arthur. For everything."

Wren sniffed loudly, scrubbing at her face with the sleeve of the flannel shirt she was wearing. Maxson felt his chest tighten, and there was nothing more he wanted than to comfort her, but he stifled it, forcing his face to remain neutral as he turned his attention to her.

"There is a vertibird just up the hill. After you say your goodbyes, I'll be waiting for you."

He turned on his heel and left before she or Danse could see the pain he could no longer hide spread across his face.

* * *

It was an awkward flight back to the Prydwen. Neither Wren nor Maxson spoke the entire way back, and he pretended not to notice the way she kept turning away to try and hide the fact that she was still crying. When they finally docked and the pilot was dismissed, Maxson took Wren's hand and led her to the railing, where the sound of the waves lapping against the shore could be heard in the distance. 

"I'm sorry you had to go through all of that," he said softly. "Your life has had enough loss. I hate that I had to be the one to bring more."

Wren shrugged, though her voice was thick with sorrow when she replied. "He's alive, that's all that matters," she murmured. "And I don't blame you, Arthur. The fact that you let him go, it...that was very brave of you." He shook his head, but she gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm serious, Arthur. You've come a long way." 

"I'll admit, it's a choice I'm still not entirely pleased with, but... it is better than the alternative. Danse was a good friend, a good man. I wonder if he was ever human during the time I met him, or if he was killed and replaced somewhere along the way." Maxson stared up at the night sky. The stars were exceptionally bright, glinting up above the haze of the atmosphere, one of the few things untouched by the war. "It will be difficult, knowing that he is no longer here."

Wren hugged his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know what you mean," she whispered. "Oh, I almost forgot. He gave me his holotags, just like you wanted." She pressed the tags into his hands. He stared down at them for a few seconds before stuffing them into the pocket of his coat. 

"Thank you," he said. A sudden breeze caught itself in Wren's hair, blowing a strand into her eyes, which he quickly brushed away, tucking it behind her ear. "If you hadn't already guessed, Danse's...departure has left a vacancy in the ranks. One I was hoping you'd fill."

Grey eyes widened and Wren sucked in a breath. "Who, me? Paladin?" Maxson nodded. 

"I couldn't think of anyone better to take the position. You've proven yourself in more ways than one, Wren. The Brotherhood is lucky to have you."

"Haven't I told you how much I hate titles, Arthur?" Wren teased. "But yes, I'll gladly accept. Only because I'd love to have another set of power armour to tinker with." Maxson snorted and she winked. "Though, I'm assuming I'll be moving into Danse's room, right?"

"Yes, that's right. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just less of a walk to come and meet you in the middle of the night."

Maxson blushed furiously, and before he could stammer out a reply, Wren had ran off, laughing.

 


	14. Ignition

The armor bay was a flurry of activity as Proctor Ingram and the newly-named Paladin Hayworth prepared for their venture into Mass Fusion. While it was likely that they would face some resistance there, ultimately it was decided that the initial sweep of the building was best performed by the two of them, calling for backup if it was needed. Maxson watched as Wren finished fastening a plate over the left leg of her power armor after repairing the actuator. She glanced his way after standing and offered a sympathetic look, which he returned with a grimace.

"I should go with you," he had said the night prior. "It's going to be dangerous, and while I know you can handle yourself, I want to be there. I want to do something besides sit here, staring out the window and wondering if you're okay."

Wren had sighed heavily and gave his arm a pat. "But you shouldn't. We can't afford to lose you. Besides, I've got Ingram with me. It'll be a quick in and out. And then you and I can rip apart the Institute and kill every last one of them together."

That had done little to comfort him then, and even less now, especially after watching her load up a bag of ammunition and a spare power core. Wren spoke to Ingram briefly before examining her weaponry, white hair streaked with grease with a small rip in the shoulder of her black t-shirt, presumably having caught on a piece of metal. Maxson stepped forward, clearing his throat.

"May I have a word, Paladin Hayworth?" he asked, and Wren stood up, wiping her hands on her already stained cargo pants. 

"Of course, Elder." She was smiling, but there was no warmth there. It was cold, empty. 

Maxson led her out of the bay and into a nearby storeroom before turning to face her.

"Are you going to be all right doing this?" he asked, voice a bit sterner than he had meant it to sound. At her confused look, he continued. "I know that it is likely you will be facing strong opposition at some point, Wren, and your identity will be uncovered. I don't know which of your  _involvements_ surfaced when you first went into the Institute, but after this, it can be assumed that you won't be able to return without being killed on the spot." 

Wren made a soft sound and ran the fingers of her cybernetic arm through her hair. "Yeah, I know. I actually thought about that."

"And you're still going through with it? You're okay with knowing that once you do this, it...it's likely that you will not be able to speak with Shau- Father, again?"

"Well, I'm not  _okay_ with it, but...it needs to be done." Wren set her jaw, but he could still see the tears that gathered, unshed, in her eyes. "My baby is gone. He was lost to me the moment that they came into the Vault. I wanted to save him, but I think it's too late for that, Arthur. No matter what I said to him, no matter how many times I told him that the Institute wasn't helping the Commonwealth, he wouldn't listen. He's not my son anymore."

Maxson cupped her face in his hands, large thumbs clumsily wiping away the tears that slid unbidden down pale cheeks. "There's nothing I can say to make the burden lighter, Wren, but I'm sorry you have to bear it. Especially on top of everything you've carried on your shoulders already."

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" She tried to joke, but her voice was thick with tears. He chuckled in return, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. 

"I don't say it often enough, I'm afraid, but thank you. For everything you've done. For the Brotherhood and for me." It was her turn to laugh quietly.

"When all of this is said and done, Arthur, you're going to owe me  _big time."_

"Is that so? How ever can I hope to repay you?"

Dove eyes glinted mischievously and she snaked slender arms around his neck. "I can think of a few ways," she drawled, and pressed her lips to his. 

As their mouths moved, Wren swallowed every sound Maxson made greedily, pressing her lithe frame against him. His thoughts grew hazy, body moving on its own, focused on only one thing, and that was the silver-haired goddess whose favor he so desperately sought to obtain. But as voices outside of the small room approached, she vanished from his arms.

"I'll consider that a down payment," she murmured, pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to the tip of his nose before they left.

Maxson helped Wren into her power armor, hands clumsy on the various fastenings, but after a while was finally successful. The Paladin shot him one last smile before she put on her helmet, a moment of static before her voice played over the speakers.

"Thank you, Elder Maxson," she said. 

"My pleasure, Paladin Hayworth."

Ingram cleared her throat, stepping between the two. The smirk she wore suggested she knew something but stayed mute on what exactly that was.

"Are you ready, Paladin?" she asked, looking to Wren, who nodded.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Great. God willing, we'll be out before the day is through." Ingram saluted Maxson, who returned the gesture, eyes lingering on Wren as the pair departed.

* * *

True to their word, not three hours later a signal was received, requesting assistance at Mass Fusion. Several birds were dispatched, filled with eager soldiers itching for a fight at last. Maxson gritted his teeth as they left, weapons at the ready, and in that moment would have gladly given anything to be one of them. Kells joined him on the flight deck as they watched the platoon depart.

"It's been a long road, sir, but it will pay off in the end," he said.

"Let us hope so."

When the group returned with Wren and Ingram in the lead, Maxson had to fight to maintain his carefully crafted facade, though his hands behind him twitched anxiously. No deaths were reported, though a few men were wounded, and when Ingram stepped forward, carefully cradling a cylindrical device in her arms, he cracked a small, tight-lipped smile. 

"The beryllium agitator, I assume," he said, eyeing the piece of tech closely. It was smaller than he expected.

"Yes, sir," Ingram replied. There was a small scorch mark on her left cheek and her hair looked more frazzled than usual, but nothing dampened the triumphant grin on her face. "Recovered fairly quickly, though the building still had some security to deal with. Wren took out an Assaultron faster than I think I've ever seen anyone do before."

Behind her, the sound of Wren snorting came over her power armor. Maxson turned his attention to her, but remained as straight-faced as always. 

"Well done, Paladin. As always, your abilities have proven invaluable to the Brotherhood." Wren was silent, but nodded in his direction. If a look of concern appeared on the Elder's face, it passed just as quickly as he turned back to Ingram. "I'll wager that Doctor Li will want to take a look at that before it's loaded up into Liberty Prime."

"Yes, sir," the Proctor said with a curt nod. "I'll head down to the airport right away."

After she left, Maxson met with several other Knight-captains to discuss the operation and assess injuries before he was free. Wren was nowhere to be found, though her power armor was in its station and her weapon turned in to Teagan for repairs. After searching the rest of the Prydwen up and down and casually asking everyone he crossed if they had seen her, Maxson eventually opened the door to his quarters and found Wren sitting at the table, a third of the way through a bottle of bourbon. Without a word, he crossed the room and poured himself a glass, sitting opposite her and taking a small drink.

"I suppose the next step will be war, huh?" Wren asked, voice small. 

Maxson nodded. "There will be a few last tests to be run on Liberty Prime and we'll have to make sure all of our men are properly outfitted, but yes, I'd daresay we'll be headed to the CIT ruins by the end of the week." 

She was silent, tipping back the rest of her drink, and he did the same. After swallowing, he spoke again.

"Will you be all right?"

Grey eyes met blue with a flash, and she gripped his hand like a vice.

"With you at my side, I can do anything."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, I know.   
> But next chapter is going to have more flashbacks, some discussions about regret, and probably some sweet, fluffy smut~


	15. Incoming

The halls of the Prydwen were all but empty and silent, save for the distant thrum of the engines and occasional sound of wind blowing outside. Below, the Commonwealth was blanketed in pale moonlight, deceptively peaceful in the late hour; a stark contrast to the airport and, above it, the Prydwen. While quiet, the air was heavy with a tension that was palpable to all aboard, thick and oppressive, threatening to suffocate anyone who dared breathe too loudly.

Maxson was no exception, having only just made his way back aboard the airship after going over the final inspection of Liberty Prime. After what had seemed like an eternity of agonizing setbacks and constant construction, he was finally, completely finished, towering above the tarmac like some ancient colossus. Doctor Li had went over his primary functions, ran a final diagnostic scan, and assured the Elder that he was ready to go come morning.

At dawn they would be preparing for their assault on the Institute, and it hardly seemed real.

Dragging himself into his room, Maxson only barely registered the time displayed on the clock hanging from the wall: nearly one o'clock in the morning. He groaned audibly, rubbing his face. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight.

"Arthur?" Wren's voice was quiet but it still made him jump, turning to where she stood in the hall behind him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"No need to apologize," he reassured her, but the smile he gave was still tense on his lips. "I didn't know you were there. Is everything all right?"

She shrugged, not meeting his eye. "I heard you coming back and... I just can't sleep. I wondered if it would be all right if I..." Pale cheeks were flooded with scarlet, and Maxson felt his own face warm. Her voice had trailed off, but he knew what she wanted.

While there was no longer any resentment between them, there had been no intimate contact between them since their first time. With the exception of a few heated kisses stolen between meetings or Wren's frequent disappearances, of course.

Maxson's smile was still tired, but more genuine this time as he reached out, taking Wren by the hand and gently pulling her into the room. 

"You can stay for as long as you'd like," he murmured, and she looked relieved.

"Thank you. I just don't want to be alone." Her slender fingers tightened slightly around his hand. "I feel like everyone is too scared to move or speak. It's awful. Is it always this way before war?"

Maxson helped her down into a chair, and sat next to her. "From what I remember when the Brotherhood finally went to battle with the Enclave ten years ago, yes. The Citadel was just as still and silent. But an agitated silence, and if anyone got any sleep, it wasn't me. And I was just a child."

"Sometimes I forget just how young you actually are," she said with a quiet laugh. "I feel like an old woman. Almost like all of those years I missed while I was on ice are crashing on top of me all at once." 

"You aren't old," he offered, and she just smiled.

"It occurs to me that I've dumped my life's story on you, but I don't actually know that much about you, Arthur. What was your childhood like?" Wren rested her chin in her hand, eyes tired but still brimming with curiosity. 

"Well, I was born outside of the New California Republic and lived there until my father died in the line of duty and my mother sent me to the Citadel. I was a very timid child, and she thought that being there would make me grow stronger." He tapped a finger on the surface of the table. "I suppose she was right, in the end. Without her to hide behind, I had to push myself out of my comfort zone. Of course, Sentinel Lyons pushed me, too."

"I've heard you mention her before. It sounds like you looked up to her quite a bit."

Maxson nodded, nostalgic smile on his face. "I did. She was a strong leader and good friend. When I was nine years old, she taught me to kill a man by stabbing him in the kidneys."

Wren snorted. "Really? Seems like a great thing to teach a kid."

"You know better than most that the wasteland is a cruel place, and it makes you grow up faster than you might like. Having a childhood is a luxury few can afford."

"I never thought of it that way."

He shrugged. "Still, I was kept safely in the Citadel until I was about twelve. I had been itching to go out, make my mark, but when I got what I wanted, I realized that Stelle had been right all along."

"Stelle?" Wren cocked her head.

"Estelle. I guess most people still call her the Lone Wanderer. But she worked very closely with the Brotherhood of Steel during our fight with the Enclave. It's because of her that we succeeded at all, and the people of the Capital Wasteland have her efforts to thank for their clean water."

"Project Purity," Wren interjected. "Or at least, I'm assuming that. I read something about it in Quinlan's terminal."

"Yes, that's right. Stelle gave her life to get the water purifier running. I hadn't cried since my mother had sent me east, but when they told me she was dead, I couldn't help it. She was like my sister, and knowing she wasn't coming back was almost too much for me."

"I'm so sorry, Arthur." Wren rested her hand on top of his and he cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that had pushed up there.

"Thank you. She was everything I hoped to be, and sometimes I wonder if I would have made her proud."

Wren took his chin in her right hand, the metal of her cybernetic cool against his skin. "How could she not be?" she asked. "You're only twenty years old and are the leader of the strongest faction on the East Coast, and you're using that to help the people here. I'm sure she would be  _extremely_ proud of you. I know I sure fucking am." He must have looked confused, because she elaborated. "You've come a long way, Arthur, even since I met you. As a person. Just think about it; when I first came aboard, you would never have in your wildest dreams have even  _thought_ of showing a synth mercy. I'm sorry if this is still a raw subject, but...you didn't have to let Danse go. But you did. And that's a pretty big step." Maxson pursed his lips and Wren laughed. "You're pretty cute when you pout."

"I'm  _cute?"_ he echoed. "You said it yourself, I'm the leader of the strongest faction on the east coast, but then you call me  _cute?"_

Wren continued to laugh, patting his hand. "Get used to it," she teased, "because it's true."

After their laughter died down, a silence settled between the two of them, but unlike the silence beyond the closed door, this one was comfortable. It was like they were in their own bubble, far away from the battle looming over them. Wren rested her head against his arm, humming some nameless tune he didn't recognize. 

"Wren? May I ask you something?"

"Of course you can," she said, offering an encouraging smile. 

He hesitated; it wasn't an easy topic for him to delve into, but if something were to happen during the battle the next day, he wanted to know, if only to satisfy his sick curiosity and soothe his ego. 

"Before," he began, tongue darting out to wet his lips, "when we...you know. Were together?" Wren perked up, nodding. "Was it...was it all right?"

She laughed hard enough that he was surprised that tears didn't spring up in her eyes. "Was it all right?" she snorted. "Why would you even ask that? Of course it was all right. Why wouldn't it have... Oh." She quieted at the embarrassment written clearly across his face. "Oh my god, Arthur, was that..."

He squared his jaw. "Yes, it was," he said coolly. "I thought I would ask, seeing as I don't have any personal experience in such matters. If it's a problem, then we can--"

Wren placed cool metal digits on his lips, effectively silencing him. "Hush," she breathed. "Of course it isn't a problem, Arthur. Not at all. I just...  _fuck,_ I wish I would have known! I could have made it more meaningful, more special."

It was his turn to snort. "Trust me, Wren, it was more meaningful than I could have ever wished it to be. It was with you, wasn't it?"

The woman flushed, a goofy smile on her lips, and Maxson felt his heart stutter. They both perked at the sound of footsteps clattering on the linoleum outside, a stark reminder of where they were and what was to come.

"I've lost my arm to a Deathclaw, stared down more mutants than I care to think about, fought an entire platoon of Gunners by myself; why is thinking about tomorrow bothering me so much?"

"There is much that hangs in the balance, Wren. It's different than anything you've faced before. This is personal, so of course it's weighing more heavily on you." He brought her hand to his chest and held it tightly. "I'll admit to be nervous, too. We've worked so hard for this, but now that the time has come, I'm frightened. I...I have more to lose now." 

Wren's gaze was fierce, her words thick with emotion. "Swear to me that you won't die, Arthur. Swear that you'll come back to me."

Mouth dry, he was surprised he could even speak at all. "Only if you swear the same thing." Wren nodded furiously, pressing the hand that still rested on his chest flat, forcing him further into his chair. She stood, circling around and settling down in his lap, thighs on either side of his hips. 

"There's nothing out there that could keep me from you," she murmured, cupping his face in her hands. Maxson all but melted into the touch, fingers gentle as they stroked down his cheeks. "I love you, Arthur."

 Before he could return those words, Wren claimed his lips in a kiss like no other they had shared. There was fire there, and Maxson could only hum softly through it. Her tongue slipped past teeth, brushing briefly against his own before tasting every part of his mouth it could find. 

Gasping, they parted for a moment, his hands still planted firmly on her hips. Maxson tried to read her expression, but she broke the tremulous silence. 

"Arthur," Wren breathed, "I want you to take me."

He choked on the breath that caught in his throat, eyes wide as he struggled to respond. "What?" he rasped. 

"I want to feel you, Arthur, so that no matter what happens, I won't forget." She kissed her way from the corner of his mouth and down his throat, stopping only when she reached his clothing. He let out a soft noise, eyelids heavy. "Please?"

"You don't need to ask," he breathed.  
  
Wren stood, and he could have wept at the loss of her weight against him. But she took his hand, pulled him to his feet, and she helped him remove his heavy coat, draping it over the back of his chair. She took her sweet time unzipping his flight suit, placing soft lips over every inch of skin freed from the dark material. Eventually the suit was peeled away from his arms and pooled at his feet. Maxson stepped out and kicked the pile of fabric aside. Wren slipped the tips of her fingers under the elastic of his underclothes, but he stopped her, taking her wrists in his hands and guiding them away from his waist.

"Your turn," he murmured, taking the hem of her black t-shirt in his hands and lifting it up and over her head. Wren fumbled with her belt and kicked out of her cargo pants. The patched bra and panties she wore was still too much fabric, but Maxson did not mind waiting. Not now. Not for this.

Wren placed both palms on his chest, gentle pressure as she directed him backwards until his knees folded upon meeting his bed. She pushed until he lay back and she climbed on top of him on her hands and knees. Grey eyes were ablaze when they met his own, and then she kissed him as if kissing him was the important thing she had ever done. Fingers tangled in his hair, the metal of her prosthetic cool against his scalp, the satiny material of her bra brushing against his naked chest. Maxson gripped her hips like a lifeline, drowning in the scent of her. 

He wondered how long his bedclothes would smell like her. 

Her lips left his and their gasping was a beautiful sound in and of itself. Wren kissed her way down his throat to his sternum, pausing after pressing one last soft kiss.

"What's wrong?" Maxson asked breathlessly. 

"I...I wanted to bite you. Leave a mark, but..." She hesitated. "I didn't know if you were into that kind of thing."

"I don't really know," he said softly, blush spreading from his cheeks down to his chest. "But I'm not opposed to the idea."

Wren smiled gently, running a hand down the side of his face. "You're such a treasure, Arthur," she purred. "God, I'm so lucky to have you."

He wanted to tell her that she had all of him, however much of him she wanted to take. But any words he wanted to speak died when she locked her mouth on his collarbone, the faintest edge of teeth detectable as she sucked a bruise onto his flesh. He inhaled sharply, burying his hands into her hair as he felt his stomach twist itself into knots. She pressed a sweet kiss to the mark before moving over, kissing and marking him as she went. By the time she crossed to his opposite shoulder, Maxson was trembling, hands twisted in the bedclothes. Wren chuckled darkly before sitting up, backside pushing against the now obvious swell in his shorts, stars erupting in his vision.

There was a soft click and rustling of fabric as she removed her bra, eyes locked on his. He held his breath as he reached up to cup her breasts in his hands, marveling at the softness of her skin compared to his rough palms. Wren sighed sweetly when he passed the pads of his thumbs across her nipples. 

"You don't have to be so gentle, Arthur. I'm not going to break." 

"I'll try and keep that in mind," he murmured, eyes bright as he leaned forward and took the majority of her small breast into his mouth. Wren moaned and pushed her rear even harder against his groin. Beneath the thin fabric his cock twitched eagerly. 

"Still too much clothing." His words were thick with arousal as he tugged at her panties. "I want to rip these off of you."

She laughed, shaking her head. "These are my good pair. Maybe next time." But she still slid the material down, over her legs, and kicked them away. Maxson took in a breath at the sight of her, lean muscle and soft curves, and all for him. 

He couldn't shed his own underwear fast enough, air cold on his cock. But Wren didn't give him time to adjust, sucking him into the warmth of her mouth before he knew what she was doing. 

"W-Wren!" he gasped and she hummed around his length. 

One hand planted firmly in her silvery hair, the other gripping the sheets firmly, Maxson groaned, the velvet heat of her throat heaven and hell all at once. His hips rocked forward experimentally, a motion she met with an eager sound, tongue painting impossible patterns along the underside of his length.

His stomach knotted tighter as he edged closer to that precipice of ecstasy, but before he crested it, Wren was gone. Maxson growled his displeasure and she laughed from above him. 

"I thought I asked you to take me," she said, feigning innocence as she ran a cold metal finger up his aching cock. He growled again, this time gripping her arms and turning her so that she was on her back with him above her. 

"And so I shall," he said darkly. She shivered in anticipation. 

Large hands skimmed down, mapping the curves of her body before resting on her prominent hips. He would have laid her open there, buried his face between her legs, but now was not the time. She needed him, and he needed her. 

Their bodies joined with a push of his hips, and Wren cried out, tears clinging to dark lashes. 

"Am...am I hurting you?" he rasped out, and she shook her head. 

"Keep going."

She met every frenzied thrust of his hips, nails digging into the flesh of his back hard enough to break the skin. He didn't mind; the pain would linger but it would remind him of this, of her. 

Wren sobbed quietly, fingers delving between her folds as she chased her own end. Maxson buried his face in the crook of her neck, muttering words of admiration and vows that he couldn't recall come dawn. He committed every sound to memory, the face she made when she came, crying out his name over and over again. 

If the worst should happen and this truly be their last time, he would never forget it. 

Maxson let out a long, strangled groan when he spilled himself inside her heat, limbs shaking as he struggled to keep himself up. But Wren helped him lay on his side, stroking her fingers through his sweat-damp hair. 

"I love you," he whispered, and she kissed his forehear. 

"I love you, too," she murmured. 

He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until the next morning, when the sound of an alarm roused him. Maxson rubbed his eyes and glanced over to see Wren laying beside him, turning off the alarm on her Pip-Boy. 

In any other context, the sight would have warmed him. But not today. 

"It's time, then," he said softly, and she nodded. "Let's go."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry late Christmas have some smut  
> I'm getting myself psyched up for the next bit --


	16. Impact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from my unplanned hiatus!  
> I'm terrible at writing action sequences so forgive me if this seems a bit rushed.   
> Next chapter will be a bit more heavy emotionally, so stay tuned.
> 
> As always, I love you all, and thanks for reading!

The Prydwen was silent, empty save for the skeleton crew that would keep her running while the rest of the Brotherhood fought their way to the Institute. Tensions had come to a head that morning as every soldier on board scrambled to finish last minute preparations. Weapons were cleaned, ammunition gathered, power armor patched and equipped before the airship was emptied out onto the tarmac. The remains of the airport were abuzz with conversation, knight-commanders keeping their units in line while they awaited the order to head out.

Maxson stood out on the flight deck, greeting each unit as they made their descent, offering words of encouragement and returning their salutes. Part of him couldn't help but wonder how many of them would make it back after this was all said and done. Loss was a common thing out in the wasteland — they had all lost someone along the way — but this was different. He'd been much younger the last time the Brotherhood of Steel had launched an onslaught of this scale, but the resulting chaos was still etched into his memory. 

_"Are you scared?"_

_Stelle looked up at him and shook her head. "Nah. What's the worst that could happen?" she said with a shrug, lacing up her boots._

_"You could get hurt. Or killed."_

_"Better than running away. If you aren't pushing forward, you aren't moving at all." She stood and ruffled his hair again. "Don't worry about me, Arthur. If I don't smuggle you in your snack cakes, who else will?" She laughed at his flustered expression and pulled something out of the pocket of her vault suit. "By the way, I found this while I was out scavenging. You're a kid and kids need toys."_

_Before he could protest, remind her that he was_ not  _a kid, Stelle had pressed the object into his hands. A small toy car that looked like it had been painted recently. Probably by her. Arthur forced a smile, even though he was still scared for her. For his friend._

_"I'll be back soon, okay? Stay safe, kiddo."_

Of course, Stelle never did come back. The Capital Wasteland mourned the loss, but the Brotherhood, and especially Arthur, in particular. She'd died a hero, Sarah had told him. Didn't even hesitate to plunge into all of that radiation knowing that it was going to save countless people. That had helped, somewhat, but it was a wound that had never fully healed, not even a decade later.

"You ready?" Maxson turned to see Wren exiting the Prydwen, adjusting the glove she wore on her prosthetic arm. 

"As ready as one can be for this sort of thing," he replied, and she snorted.

"True enough." Her tone sounded casual enough, but he could tell that she was frightened. They all were. 

"You're not wearing your power armor?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"No, I don't think so. It slows me down. Besides, I don't want to be hiding behind anything when I see... _him."_

Maxson nodded, knowing full well that she was referring to Shaun.

"I understand."

Though he would have preferred her to have the added protection of power armor, she wasn't completely vulnerable. She was wearing her vault suit and a full set of combat armor, the helmet tucked under her right arm, metal fingers drumming against the helmet nervously. 

"I know this might sound like a ridiculous question, but...are you going to be all right? With all of this? Knowing what's going to happen?" Maxson took a half step closer to her, and Wren visibly tensed, avoiding eye contact.

"I'll be fine. It has to be done. This isn't just about me. It's about the Commonwealth and the people who live in it." She finally met his gaze and, much to his surprise, smiled warmly at him. "I'll admit, though, it's nice to know that you're so worried about me, Arthur."

The familiar, yet still uncomfortable, sensation of heat prickling over his cheeks made him scoff. "I just...I don't want..." Wren placed a hand on his wrist and he sighed. "I don't want anything to happen to you. I wouldn't forgive myself."

"Well, then, I'll make a deal with you. As long as you swear to me that you'll meet me back here for drinks by this time tomorrow, then I'll promise the same thing." He swallowed and nodded. Wren brought his hand up to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "You don't need to worry about me so much, though, Arthur. Not when I have my secret weapon." At his confused look, Wren stooped and pulled the combat knife he had given her out of her boot.

"You still have it?" he asked.

"Of course I do. It's brought me all kinds of good luck." She reached into her pocket and fumbled around for a moment. "Which reminds me, I have something for you, too. Your own good luck charm."

Maxson lofted an eyebrow, watching incredulously as Wren pressed something into the palm of his hand. A plain gold ring, the band a bit scuffed along the edges. 

"Is this-?"

Wren nodded. "Nate's wedding band, yeah. I've held onto it for a while but, uh, I want you to have it."

Maxson shook his head. "I can't take this, Wren."

"Ah, fuck off, Arthur. It'll make me feel better knowing that you have it."

For a moment he stared down at the band in a sort of stupor. For being so small it was heavy in his hand, metal threatening to burn through him. In a desperate attempt to lighten the tension between them, Maxson managed to clear his throat to speak.

"Is this some sort of marriage proposal, Paladin Hayworth?" 

Wren positively beamed, howling with laughter. She had to put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. After a time, she stopped, wiping a tear from her eye.

"It's whatever you'd like it to be, Elder Maxson."

* * *

 

Metal groaned and wires sparked as Liberty Prime came to life before their eyes. The massive robot performed a systems and weapons check before tearing his way out of the gantry.

**"Voice module: online. Audio functionality test: initialized. Designation: Liberty Prime Mark II. Mission: the liberation of Anchorage, Alaska."**

Maxson stared up at the mechanized colossus, watching as he took a moment to figure out where he was before beginning his journey to the Institute. The Brotherhood cheered, saluted, shouted out encouragement as Prime passed them by, footsteps loud enough that the entire Commonwealth probably heard them. Beside him, Wren let out a breath.

"That's my cue, huh?" she said. 

"That's your cue," Maxson said with a nod. "You're with some of the best men and women the Brotherhood has to offer. I'll be going ahead to the CIT ruins to take care of any resistance that surfaces there."

Wren gripped his hand. "See you soon?" Her grey eyes were wide, terrified. Part of him wanted to forgo the plan, keep her with him. But he knew he couldn't.

"Very soon. I promise."

Despite the hundreds of soldiers around, Maxson bent, pressed a single, feather-light kiss to Wren's trembling lips, and stared on as she took off at a sprint, laser rifle at the ready, following Prime's thunderous footfalls.

One of the star paladins assigned to assist him in securing the CIT campus approached and saluted. "The gunship is ready, Elder."

"Excellent. Let's go. I'm ready to make the Institute pay."

* * *

 

There were already synths waiting for them as the vertibirds approached the CIT. Maxson's gunship touched down a few blocks away to ensure a safe landing, and as soon as it had, the Elder sprung forward, flanked by his men as he took off towards the crumbling building ahead. Bullets were flying, lasers shrieking as they tore through the air. Maxson lifted his gatling laser, obliterating dozens of the synth abominations that stood in their way. 

It was good to be back out here, in the thick of it. While a few men held back, ensuring the safety of their leader, Maxson felt strangely free. Even now, as the enemy appeared out of thin air, out of the walls around them. A single bullet whined by his shoulder, clipping his sleeve. He growled, pivoting to spot the courser who had fired, returning the favor. Nothing was left but a pile of ashes.

**"Engaging Red Chinese aggressors."**

The boom of Liberty Prime's voice and the distant thud of his footsteps preceded the robot's appearance, but even the synths looked terrified when he arrived, crushing several underfoot before blasting away with his laser.

"Miss me, Arthur?" 

Maxson whipped around to see Wren sprinting over towards him, looking frazzled but unharmed. Before he could say that, yes, he was happy to see her safe, Wren lifted her rifle, blasting the head off a synth who had taken advantage of his momentary distraction.

"There. Now I don't owe you for the whole cybernetic thing anymore." Wren winked. 

Maxson rolled his eyes but chuckled. With Prime's arrival, the fight was over relatively quickly. And, by his estimate, with minimal, if any, casualties. The robot turned his attention to digging their way into the Institute, laser blasting into the ground like a hot knife through butter. Maxson lifted his arm to shield his eyes from the blinding light.

Men ran forward towards the resulting crater, ready to descend at his order. But Wren looked hesitant, like she wanted to be sick. Maxson took her hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

"Are you ready?"

"No. But I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"No, not really."

Wren huffed and smiled sadly at him.

"Then let's go."


	17. Immolation

The descent was long, sliding down the dark maw of the earth, surrounded by the stifling smell of wet dirt and something that reminded Maxson of decay. Just as he began to wonder if he was destined to be swallowed up, trapped in the dark and dank forever, he caught a faint ray of light beneath him that grew steadily brighter, larger. Closer.

His boots hit the floor with a thud, and the Elder quickly moved out of the way so as not to be trampled by the next man down. Wren and a few other soldiers had already completed their descent and were waiting for the others to finish their journey. 

"This is it?" Maxson looked around the dimly-lit room. It was empty save for a few rusted shelving units and a rather battered-looking terminal. "This is the Institute?"

Wren flashed a grin. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sounded  _disappointed,_ Elder Maxson," she teased.

"No, not disappointed. Just...unimpressed."

In truth, he hadn't really known what he had expected down here. The Institute kept its secrets well. But the way Wren had spoken of the place had led him to imagine vast, open halls and assortments of tech that no one above ground could have thought up in a hundred years. Synths beyond count, perhaps being assembled on a labyrinth of conveyor belts. But this? Cold and quiet, the musty stink of rust heavy in the air? This was completely underwhelming.

"This is just the relay. There's plenty of Institute beyond this room." Wren sounded tired, grip tight on her rifle. 

Proctor Ingram circled around the old console and examined it closely. "If we're gonna get outta here, I'd better get this thing working. I'll stay behind and see if I can't get it back online."

Maxson nodded curtly. "Good. Now then, men, the time has come. Keep to the plan, and we'll show the Institute the power and determination of true, honest humanity." 

There was a chorus of salutes and shouts of agreement before the crowd moved towards the far end of the room, where Wren waited by the elevator. No one was surprised when when it wouldn't respond, so two of the men made quick work of cutting down one of the old and locked doors off of the main room. Once the dust settled, the smell of dark and dank was like walking into a brick wall, the hall beyond obviously sealed off for a very long time. 

"There'll be security, so don't let your guard down," Wren said. "Watch out for any turrets that might still be active, because I'm sure there are still some around."

The words had barely left her lips before there was a quiet whirring sound, followed by a hail of laser fire. The men threw themselves out of the way, Wren carefully taking aim before blasting the laser turret off of the ceiling with a single, well-placed bullet. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't only old turrets that posed a problem. There were synths everywhere, mechanical voices grinding out as they seemed to claw their way out of every nook and cranny. Maxson kept his gatling lifted, spraying out shot after shot. He glanced every now and then over at Wren, who was taking out synths with calculated precision. Every bullet she fired hit its mark, synths collapsing left and right, sparks flying from exposed and shredded wires. Thankfully, after years of quietly rusting in the sealed wing, their enemies were not too difficult to dispatch, many of them only twisted remains of their former glory.

The hallways seemed to continue on for an eternity, the smell of damp metal and rot heavy in the stagnant air, but eventually after some time, when all of the synths had been dealt with and the smoke had cleared, Wren pointed to a hatch in the floor. 

"We need to get that open. I don't think there's any other way out of this room. Hopefully that will get us somewhere."

"You heard the Paladin," Maxson ordered. "Get that thing open."

The same two men who had cut open the first door set to work immediately, plasma cutters burning blindingly bright as they sliced through the hatch. There was a loud crash when they finally broke through, chunks of metal tumbling into the darkened room below. Wren peeked her head through and gave a thumbs up.

"We're in luck. I think I actually know where we are now," she said. "We made it through the old Robotics wing, and through here is the end of the old Bioscience division. Sealed off from the rest of the Institute, but uh, I've been in here. The main part of the Institute is just through a door over on the other side." 

The men buzzed with excitement, inching towards the hatch, clearly ready for the real fight. Wren met Maxson's eye and gave a small nod; she knew what he was thinking. But there was no turning back. Not here, not now. "All hell is going to break loose," she warned. "We've only faced old synths and rusted-up turrets, left behind as the rest of the Institute expanded. Don't celebrate just yet. We're a long way from the surface, and an even longer way from being safe." 

"We're with you, Paladin Hayworth!" one of the Knights cried out, several of her fellows chiming in. Maxson couldn't help but feel a surge of pride; not only for his soldiers, but for Wren, who tried to play like she wasn't the slightest bit proud, too.

Wren gestured towards the hatch, and one by one, they began to drop down into the room beyond. Maxson stood beside her and cleared his throat softly, Wren meeting his eye and immediately looking away.

"I'm fine, Arthur," she said softly. "I just...I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"I know," he said, voice quiet, reassuring. 

Wren sucked in a breath before moving to the hatch, dangling her feet through the opening. "I'm just happy that no matter what comes, you've got my back."

"Of course I do." 

Her face softened a degree before she vanished, swallowed up by the hatch. Maxson followed close behind, rolling his shoulders as he stood. Wren took the lead again, moving quicker now that she knew exactly where they were. And as the rusting and twisted metal changed to pristine white, bright lights threatening to blind them, Maxson felt his heart skip a beat. Buttons and panels flashed and beeped from the walls, a plethora of terminals filled with what he imagined would be endless invaluable information; it was both amazing and terrifying. 

"This is what I was afraid of," he said under his breath.

"Don't get too excited, Elder Maxson," said Wren. "This is just the beginning." She paused, checking to make sure the safety on her rifle was off. "We're coming out into Bioscience, and I'm sure there's going to be more security waiting for us. Get ready."  
  
The men murmured and readied their own weapons as well before following her down a narrow hall and out into a larger area that seemed to serve as some kind of hydroponics lab. But now it was nothing of the sort. Bullets flew as a number of synths poured out from every doorway, scientists that were in the wrong place at the wrong time ducking under desks and crying out for mercy. Since they were not really a threat, the Brotherhood's forces continued on, sweeping through the area and clearing it before Wren directed them for the exit; the door that would lead them to the main part of the Institute. 

"Once outside, we need to make our way down to the reactor. We have to clear the way for Paladin Hayworth and her men," Maxson shouted, the last part of his order drowned out as the door opened to what was already a war zone. 

For a moment they stood in stunned disbelief as a small group of what appeared to be synths was already clearing out the atrium, fighting remarkably well despite the fact that they were hopelessly outnumbered. One of them saw the door open and shouting something to Wren, who lifted her rifle and sprinted over, more than a few bullets whizzing past, one barely glancing off of the armor strapped to her shoulder. 

The Brotherhood poured out from Bioscience. Two were gunned down within moments. Chaos, shouting. The ragtag group of renegade synths who seemed to be siding with them were taking directions from Wren, and a few of them seemed to have gained vantage points above the fighting, sniping from unseen areas. Despite himself, Maxson was grateful for their help. They'd already cleared a number of the enemy out before they'd even arrived.

His own blood ran red hot, heated by passion and pure, unbridled rage as he made his way forward, gatling laser spitting out round after round. It brought him a grim sort of satisfaction when he made a kill, sparks and blood issuing from his enemy as they fell. Sometimes they burned, collapsing on themselves into a heap of smoldering ashes. Still, it didn't seem to matter how many he felled; more always seemed to take their place. 

After what seemed like ages, though, the tide seemed to turn. A few stragglers were taken down and it seemed there would be a short reprieve before the next wave of synths swept through. The soldiers gathered again to regroup, some of them snatching up ammunition and weapons from fallen synths, others taking the time to patch up their own wounds or those of their friends. For a moment there was an odd, unsettling silence before there was the soft crackle of static over the intercom, Ingram's voice following.  
  
"All right, I think I got this mic working. I'm sorry, but the way to get down to the reactor seems to have been blocked off, and there's no way for me to override it from here. The command has to come from the director's terminal itself. Not quite sure where it is, but hopefully Paladin Hayworth knows and can access it."

Even as far away as Maxson stood, he could see Wren tense.

"Good luck." There was another soft blurb of static, a click, and the speakers went silent. Maxson looked over to Wren, who was wrapping a bandage around the arm of one of the synths who had joined their forces.

"You're lucky that shot only grazed you. It's a nasty burn, but it'll patch up just fine," she said softly, giving the synth a tired smile. She turned her eyes upwards to meet Maxson's as he approached. "Ah. Uh, Elder Maxson, this is Z1-14. He convinced a number of the other synths to stay behind and help bolster our numbers." Her tone was harsh; she knew that Maxson certainly wouldn't approve of the synths' assistance. But he bit his tongue and nodded curtly in the synths' direction.

"The director's terminal," he said, tone perhaps harsher than he meant it to be, "do you know where it is?"

Wren finished up wrapping Z1-14's wound before standing, shoulders squared and face stern.

"Yeah, I do. It's..." She hesitated, shouldering her weapon again. "It's in  _his_ room."

Maxson understood instantly by her tone alone. "I see. Are you...will you be okay going there?"

She nodded, her gaze miserable. "Have a little faith, Elder," she said, and though he knew it was meant as jest, her tone held no humor. "I'll be there and back before you know it."

With that, she hurried off, the Elder watching the back of her head under she disappeared out of sight after rounding a corner. Now it was time to wait. Again. He was almost grateful when Z1-14 broke the silence with an awkward cough.

"There will be more of the Institute's security sweeping through in about thirty seconds. Are your men ready?" 

"My men can handle anything the Institute tries to throw at them," Maxson said back, tone sounding venomous without him even meaning to. "And after we reach the reactor, there will be nothing left of this place but a smoldering crater."

The synth chuckled softly. "Perhaps you mean to intimidate me with that statement, Elder Maxson, but I would be very glad to see this place destroyed, and my people will assist you in your endeavor in any way possible."

Maxson opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced by shouting as another wave of synths spewed into the atrium. Bullets began to rain down once again, the cacophony of screams and explosions rocking the air as the battle quickly heated. He only barely managed to avoid a shot aimed at his head, only to take a hit from a synth with some kind of baton, the weapon cracking over his shoulder with enough force to cause Maxson to stumble. Still, thankfully his battlecoat and the armor beneath it took the brunt of the blow, and he quickly retaliated, blasting the bastard with round after round from his gatling laser, enough to blow the synth in half, torso tumbling away from its legs, still standing amidst the carnage before slumping over. 

Time held no meaning anymore. The fight could have lasted for an hour, a month, a minute. But eventually there was a soft blurb of static over the intercom again before a computerized voice began to issue forth. It was difficult to make out exactly what was being said over the battle, but Maxson caught the word  _evacuation_ and noticed an influx of scientists and what seemed to be families attempting to flee. At one point he made eye contact with a child clinging to her mother, staring at him in what he could only describe as terror. Quickly he looked away; innocents caught in the crossfires were of no concern to him.

It also seemed like a number of synths had been deactivated as well, stopping dead in their tracks and slumping over, weapons clattering uselessly to the ground. Just as the last remaining active synths were being dealt with, Wren reappeared in the atrium, rifle shaking in her hands. It was clear she was trying to put on a brave face, but tracks painted her face where tears had snaked their way through the grime on her cheeks. Maxson fought the urge to rush to her side, clear the tears away himself. Wren approached, clearing her throat and shouldering her gun. If any of the soldiers noticed her state, none of them said anything.

"The way to the reactor is clear. Once we plant the charge, we'll need to signal to Proctor Ingram so she can get us back up to the relay." Wren's voice was steady, but there was something bitter that lurked beneath the surface. "We'll need to head that way, through Advanced Systems. Be ready, though, the last of the synths and coursers will be waiting for us."

As the soldiers began to make their way towards the entry to Advanced Systems, the remaining rebel synths mixing in with their numbers, Maxson turned to Wren, face writ with concern.

"What happened?"

She gave him an odd look, annoyance tinged with pain. "Now really isn't the time, Arthur," she said coolly. "All I want is to get the fuck out of here." Before he could say anything else, Wren pulled away, rushing after the others. 

As she had predicted, there were still a number of Institute forces waiting to defend the reactor, but it wasn't enough. The Brotherhood crashed through like a tidal wave, drowning their foes in a sea of bullets and blood. When at last the room was quiet, Wren made her way to the reactor core itself to plant the charges within. When the core was sealed, Maxson radioed Ingram, who managed to transport them all back up to the relay, where she was tapping away wildly at the terminal.

"Proctor?" he asked, confused. "Why did you not relay us to Mass Fusion as planned?"

"I'm sorry, Elder, I got almost everyone back, but then...this kid showed up. Says he's the Paladin's son."

Maxson turned to Wren with wild eyes, looking just in time to see her face blanch, clearly just as shocked by this as he was. But sure enough, there was a boy standing just to the left of Ingram. He was trembling, but a look of overwhelming relief passed over his face when his eyes locked on Wren.

"Mom!" he cried, darting forward. "P-Please, take me with you. I don't wanna die here!"

"W...what did you just call me?" Wren choked. "I'm not...I'm not your mother."

"What do you mean? Of course you're my mother. Please, y-you don't have to take care of me or anything, I can look after myself. Just don't let me die here."

Wren was shaking, barely able to maintain a grip on her rifle any longer. Maxson narrowed his eyes; he knew this wasn't the real Shaun, and Wren did, too. 

"I'm...I'm sorry, Shaun. I don't know what I was thinking. Just...just...listen, I'm going to get you out of here, okay? I'll get you somewhere safe and meet you there. Does that sound all right?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah, okay. Don't forget about me, okay, Mom?"

"How could I forget about you?" she said, giving a weary smile, tousling his hair before nodding towards Ingram.

"I'll relay him to the airport after I get you and the Elder up to Mass Fusion," Ingram said, tapping at the terminal. "I'll keep an eye on him for you until you get back."

"Thanks, Proctor." Wren avoided eye contact with Maxson as she made her way to the relay chamber. He followed along, standing beside her as she got a better grip on her rifle. 

Being relayed was an odd sensation. The hairs on his arms stood on end as the crackle of electricity danced across his skin, followed by a tug, the smell of ozone, and a flash of light. Moments later, they were standing atop of the Mass Fusion building once more, staring down at the Commonwealth below, and more specifically, the CIT ruins. Smoke still rose from the wreckage inflicted by Liberty Prime. 

"The charge is primed and ready, Elder, and we've received word from Proctor Ingram that the Institute is clear." One of the soldiers saluted before gesturing to a box that sat nearby, red button lit up as if it were eager to be pressed. 

Maxson turned to Wren, who was staring blankly at the city below.

"Paladin? It's time."

Her voice was small, almost frightened. "I can't do it alone."

The Elder reached out and took her hand, placing it over the button before draping his hand atop hers. "We'll do it together, then," he said softly. "Are you ready?"

Wren just nodded, and he pushed down, the soft click of the button immediately followed by a distant rumble as if of thunder. Dust rose in a choking cloud, spreading out as if fleeing from the blast, brighter than the sun. Maxson felt the radiation wash over him, tasted and smelled it. They had done it, they'd faced the Institute and emerged victorious.

But as he heard Wren's quiet sobs from beside him, he wondered at what cost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof I didn't mean for this to take so long to update  
> but we're in the home stretch now, boys  
> and I know everyone says this but I'm going to give my best shot to updating more regularly again ~  
> Thank you for your patience and support. Love y'all~!


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